Cursed
by Tales To Tell
Summary: The war is over. Voldemort is dead, but his shadow remains. A wicked curse binds two souls in the roles of beast and prey. Subject to its cruel demands, they stand on the verge death. Will they ever escape, or will they be consumed?
1. Chapter 1

**Cursed**

 **Chapter 1**

For a while after they exited the pensieve, there was only the sound of harsh breathing and the chill of the unheated sitting room. He stood a bit away from her, trembling with nervous energy while clutching a potion vial in his pocket. Through a thick fog of occlumency, he watched the girl as she processed what he'd shown her, her eyes opening wide and squeezing shut, her body shaking like a frightened mouse. Another minute to think might help her calm herself, but more likely, it would only help her panic. There was little time left to delay anyway.

He took the vial of dark liquid from his pocket and held it out to her.

She stared at it for several seconds, then looked at him like he was Voldemort himself. "You want me to take a date rape drug?"

"It's not…" He trailed off. He could pretty it up with nice words and euphemisms, but that was exactly what it was. "It will help you to remain insensitive throughout the procedure."

"Throughout you _raping_ me," she said.

He shuddered. "I won't force you to take it, but the alternative will be unpleasant."

"You bastard."

He agreed.

"You're _mad_ ," she said. "This isn't real. This is a trick."

"Then run," he said. He prayed. He breathed in and out and cleared his mind.

She glanced at the door. It was unguarded, and she had her wand, but she made no attempt to leave. She wouldn't. She was intelligent, and she valued her life. He hated her for it. Anyone else would have been miles away already and let him cop out. He stretched his arm to put the vial within her reach. "This is the best solution."

She glared daggers at him. He wished she would glare at his jugular vein.

"Seriously? How about breaking the bloody curse?"

He breathed in and out. "It is beyond my capability."

"Or beyond your desire."

In and out. "You will not remember anything."

Her face twisted like a knife in his chest. "And you'd _love_ that, wouldn't you? No witnesses. No one to judge you for the vile creature you are. Taking your sick pleasure while I'm _unconscious_."

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to understand what she wanted. "Would you rather remain cognizant?"

" _Fuck_ you! Oh no, fuck _me_ , right? That's what this is all about. Like _hell_ I want to feel you touching me."

He breathed in and out, but his mind refused to clear. Slivers of feeling crept into his awareness. The cold of the room. The heat growing inside him. The ache. Blood pumping in his arms and legs, pounding in his head, his chest. His throat tightened. He inhaled. He exhaled. He closed his eyes and racked his brain for what to say. He could spout any flavor of inane comforts, lies that it would be alright, don't worry, we'll get through it together, and other bullshit, but they were neither so naïve.

"It is not personal," he said. "Merely a transaction. A medical treatment."

She slapped him.

The shock crashed through his mental guard and a myriad of pains rushed into him. He gripped the desk and rode out a tsunami of all his nerves firing at once. She was hurting too. He could see it in her eyes, her tough front wavering. But she didn't break. Despite the circumstance, he was impressed. He could see why she was in Gryffindor.

Maybe he'd been wrong. He dared to hope. Maybe she would rather—

"How does it work?"

His hope burned to ash. _Of course._ He shook his head. _Of course._ He rolled his dried-up tongue around his mouth. "You will recall nothing from the first taste to when you wake."

"If I have to forget, I don't want to remember any of it. I don't want to remember this day. I don't want to remember _ever_ coming here."

Someone laughed. Not her. Not him. In his head. He heard something mocking, whispering heinous things. He focused and cleared his mind again.

"A retroactive potion is not recommended. The effects could extend beyond the desired scope. I could not confidently provide you one."

She narrowed her eyes. "Not even a great potion's master like you?"

He let the problem distract him for a moment. Perhaps there was a way, but… "I would not risk your intellect."

"You dare pretend to give a damn about that while planning how to go about _fucking_ me while I'm unaware."

The whispers exploded into a clamoring host. Horrid images spewed into his mind. He clutched his gut and stifled a groan.

"Oh please. Don't pretend this is hard for you. What do you have to lose? This is all so convenient for you, isn't it?"

Searing heat surged in his loins, and ominous pressure started building. He shifted his hips and prayed the shadows hid the growing bulge. "I assure you, Miss Granger." Just saying her name felt like a violation. "None of this is convenient for me. I am not enjoying this situation."

"Not yet." She jerked her chin at the potion. "Just wait a few minutes after I've had that. Then you'll be enjoying all you want."

Her gaze dipped to his shame, and her tough façade cracked, spilling fear and helplessness through her gaping eyes.

"I'm fine with forgetting," she said. "I have enough nightmares and reasons to hate myself." Her hands clenched to fists. "But I don't want to remain _insensible_ throughout the _procedure_. I want to be free to move."

"You do?"

She skewered him with a glare. "You can forget your fantasies. I don't want to feel anything. I'm not going to _participate_."

He flushed. "I did not mean—"

"You can knock me out in the middle, but I'm not going to lie down for you, _Snape_." She said his name like it was something maggot-filled. "I'm not a willing party, and I'm going to make sure you don't forget that. I going to fight you every step of the way. Can you make that happen?"

He wasn't even sure he understood, but he nodded anyway. "Not today, but I can prepare something for the next time."

"Next time." She snickered. "Already looking forward to it?"

He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"Give me that."

He held out the vial and she snatched it, uncorked it, and drank.

"How fast does it work?"

Snape rushed forward and caught her as she collapsed. The vial fell from her limp hand and smashed on the ground. He froze as he held her up, his mouth agape, eyes wide as he looked down at her. She was so small, so light, so young. He could still see in her the bushy-headed little girl who once annoyed him with her ceaseless questions, her wordy essays, and know-it-all attitude. She'd grown since then into a fine young woman with a bright future, and he had been proud to call himself her teacher. But now….

He tore his eyes from her face, before he could get any more nauseous. Then he steeled himself and carried her over to the bed.

He lay her down gently, and then backed away to the farthest side of the room, all courage gone again. He paced back and forth rubbing his face, holding his stomach, not looking at the bed. How the hell was he supposed to do this?

The voice of Bellatrix Lestrange rang in his head. _Don't you know the mechanism, Snape? Never had that talk with your parents?_

"Shut up!"

He cast an array of silencing spells and privacy spells to layer over the impervious ones already in place. He was stalling.

But what else could he do? He couldn't do this. He couldn't….

 _If you don't, you both die horrible, gruesome, agonizing deaths. That what you want, Sevvie?_

"Shush!"

 _Either way's fine with me, you know._

The dead woman cackled in his ears.

"Go away, Bella. Go away. Go away."

He shook the voice out of his head. He was going nuts. He would lose his mind before this was all over. Maybe he should hope for that. Maybe that would break this wretched curse. He scraped his nails across his scalp. Maybe they didn't really have to do this. Maybe it wouldn't get too bad. They wouldn't actually die. They could just ignore it and treat the symptoms. Why would anyone make a spell like this?

He accidentally looked at the bed and his stomach lurched. He threw up by the door and slumped against it, banging his head over and over.

Something was happening to him. He was shivering, but his insides were burning. His mouth was so bloody dry. Every muscle in him was twitching and his joints felt packed with grit.

Ice cold sweat dripped down his back. Cold like a blade's edge. He felt something in his spine between his shoulders. Something coiling around it. Squeezing. A leash. A warning. _Death_. He shook his head. It couldn't be. He was imagining it. Or maybe it was real, but it was just him. She'd be fine if he—

A cry of agony tore out of his throat and he fell over convulsing in the puddle of sick. In his head, a snakelike voice hissed _crucio_ over and over _._ _Crucio_. The pain was exactly like the torture curse, but the assault was more than pain. It was hunger. Lust. Craving. Rage. He needed to… _needed_ to…. Through his screams he heard the bed creaking and shaking like someone was jumping on it. He craned his neck against the involuntary impulses and saw Granger twitching and spasming so violently he feared she'd break her bones. It was the curse's punishment. That much he grasped, though he could hardly think. So, unconsciousness wouldn't save her. Ice picks stabbed between his vertebrae. His back arched and his sight darkened. His mouth filled with bile and metal. An invisible ligature seized his throat. Any last doubts fled that instant.

 _No!_

He gagged for breath and clawed at his neck, but the pain and darkness grew thicker each second.

 _You win! You win! Please…._ "Please," he croaked. As though something had heard him and listened, the pain ebbed just enough to let him breathe and control his limbs. He pushed himself off the soiled floor, shaking with hysterical laughter though tears were streaming down his face, and raised his arm toward his liquor cabinet.

" _Accio_ firewhiskey _._ "

A half-empty bottle flew into his outstretched hand. He nearly dropped it, but managed to hold on and dislodge the cork. _Liquid courage_ , he derided, then took a swig. The smell of the liquor and vomit dug up memories he preferred to keep buried behind layers and layers of occlumency and denial, and he knew suddenly that his life had come full circle. This was all he was meant to be. Pathetic. Worthless piece of filth. A vile creature. He put the bottle to his mouth and flipped the bottom up, drinking until his stomach filled with the burning liquid. Then he dropped it on the floor and staggered to the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

A flowery scent tickled Hermione awake. She opened her eyes and found herself sitting at a table. In front of her was a small white blur that when she blinked became a teacup on a saucer. She swallowed gummy saliva and licked her lips. A spot of tea was just what she needed. For some reason she felt like she'd been racing nundus while piggybacking hippogriffs then overdosed on dreamless sleep. Smiling groggily from the delirium of her unplanned midday nap, she slid her hands around the cup and dragged it toward her, eager to wet her throat. She couldn't identify the scent, but it was wonderful. She took a sip then held the cup under her nose, inhaling the pleasant aroma, wondering what it was and who had brewed it. Her wondering led her to glance around and finally take note of her surroundings. The sight of green was like a bucket of cold water down her back. Shrieking a little, she leapt out of the chair and away from the table, sloshing hot liquid on her fingers in her haste. Her hand went to her robe pocket for her wand but found neither wand nor robes.

" _Accio_ wand!"

From behind her, her robes flew into her hand, pocket first. She retrieved her wand and pointed it at each corner of the room like cops do on tv. Her vision swayed from the sudden exertion, but the glaring Slytherin green remained the same. Why was she in the dungeons? Her heart pounded in her chest as she searched her mind for her latest memories. She remembered feeling ill, sudden debilitating pain coursing through her body, symptoms that baffled Madam Pomfrey and made her start to panic over all sorts of horrible diseases she might have. Preparing to go to St. Mungo's. And then Professor Snape…

Her pulse boomed in her stomach as the memories rushed back. She clamped her hand over her mouth and forced down rising chunks.

 _Snape._ These were Snape's quarters.

The room swayed. Her legs quivered. She grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself, squeezing her breath in and out through her tightening throat.

Fully alert now, her mind had finally interpreted the burning soreness between her legs and stickiness on her thighs. She screamed and shoved over the table.

It had really happened. He'd really done it. Snape had actually… She whimpered and hugged herself and started to pace.

 _Bastard. That bastard! I'm so stupid! Why did I drink that bloody potion?_

She stopped moving and cast scouring charms all over herself until her skin felt raw. How could she have let this happen? She screamed inside her head. She should've gone to Madam Pomfrey. Or McGonnagal. Or Dumbledore. Anyone. Anything would've been better than taking that damn potion without even making sure Snape wasn't lying.

Now she was stuck like this. Dirty. Defiled. Ruined forever. Tainted by _Snape_. She grabbed the wooden chair and flung it at the unlit fireplace. Then she ripped a tapestry off the wall, eviscerated an armchair, and incinerated the floo powder on the mantel. Finally, she went to one of Snape's bookshelves and knocked all his books and jars and vases off, and then wedged her fingers behind it and pulled and pulled until it toppled over with a loud, floor-shaking boom.

Through the pounding of her heart, she heard a shower running just as it turned off. Snape was coming out. She glanced at the door. She could leave now, but she wanted to see him. Wanted to see just how _inconvenienced_ he was. For all she knew, he'd been in there replaying the event.

When he finally showed himself, clad in a dingy grey bathrobe, hair dripping down his face like a drowned puffskein, he looked shocked to see her.

"You haven't gone," he slurred.

 _Drunk on the afterglow._ She scowled at him. "You finish up nicely, Snape? You look refreshed."

He glanced around at the destruction of his quarters, looking perturbed. "You're free to go, Miss Granger," he said.

"Now that you're done with me?"

"No, I…" he trailed off, a tinge of pink rising in his face. "I only meant that the door isn't locked. I apologize if you thought yourself trapped."

"I _am_ trapped."

Snape swayed and threw a hand out to grab the wall, holding on as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. "Is there something I can…Why haven't you… May I ask why you have stayed?"

Hermione smirked at Snape stumbling over his words. She relished seeing him so unsettled. "I just want to make sure you haven't forgotten," she said. "I know little details tend to slip the mind when we get caught up in too much _excitement_."

His face twisted with guilt. "What do you wish me to remember?"

She folded her arms. "Like I said before, I want you to make sure I can't feel anything at all and that I don't remember any of it after, but I want to be aware enough and strong enough to fight you off."

Snape's face turned as grey as his robe. "I don't know of such a potion offhand, but I will prioritize developing one."

"Make sure you do."

Snape nodded.

"Oh, and _Professor_."

Snape looked at her through dripping strings of hair. "Yes?"

She fired a stinging hex between his legs then left the room.

…

The door slammed shut.

Snape lay on the ground, breathing through the pain, trying not to think. The more he thought, the more he wanted to die.

Granger's face was etched in his eyes. The way she'd looked at him, like only the thinnest thread of her morals had kept her from the killing curse. She should've cast it. He should've ended himself rather than let it get this far.

But he'd done it to survive. No. To save her. He begged himself to believe it wasn't just to save himself. Was he such a beast that he'd defile a child just to buy another breath?

It wasn't worth it.

The urge was still there, buzzing like a low current under his skin, reassuring him that it had not gone. It would not go. There would be a next time.

He could not bear a next time. He should've begged the Dark Lord for death. Why had he chosen then to act like a bloody Gryffindor?

He'd spent half the time trying to figure out how to undo her clothes and how to position himself. Jogging up the instructions he'd learned in his youth from the crass talk of the boys' toilets and the shows Mulciber liked to give by charming his curtains see-through. He'd wished then that he'd let himself get caught up in the debauchery of his classmates at least once. No. Dozens of times. Hundreds. Then at least he would've known what the hell he was doing. And then maybe those memories might've helped him camouflage this trauma. He could've buried this needle in the haystack of his transgressions. Maybe if it hadn't been the first time, it wouldn't have mattered so much. It wouldn't have hurt so much. He wouldn't have felt like he'd lost something he could never get back.

He pounded his fist into the floor. Such childish thoughts. He'd already obliterated so much of himself anyway. What difference did it make if he added one more thing to the pile of his detritus? His right hand crept over to his left and clamped onto the dark stain on his forearm. He was far from innocent.

He remembered basking in that glow, his hips jerking in ecstasy as he lost himself in the moment. Then coming out of it and understanding what he'd done. Seeing her face. Her innocent sleeping face. His violation. Pulling away in horror. Blood. Why? Because she was a virgin? Or maybe he'd hurt her somehow. He didn't know much about it, being one too. Or he had been. She had been. But that was all ruined now. All gone away. Messed up. _Fucked_.

He'd broken down and she'd lain there like a broken doll. He'd tried to put her to back together. Cleaned and dressed her as best he could. Sat her on the chair, vanished the scene of his crime, and then fled.

He summoned his wand and pressed it to his chest, conjuring hate. Sinister voices filled his head. _Pathetic. Poor Sevvie loves the mudblood. Half-blood filth. Traitor! I'll make you worse than what you despise._

" _Crucio_."

His back arched and slammed into the ground. For a blissful second, agony wiped him clean, but then the guilt and shame came rushing back.

" _Crucio_!"

Twice more he cast the spell, but he couldn't make it last. He didn't try again. He didn't deserve the reprieve, nor did he have time to waste.

He focused his mind and began to occlude. It took more effort than it should, but the world soon faded to dull pastels and the voices lulled to a hum. He rolled onto his hands and knees and sat back on his heels to wait out the room spinning. Then without a care for his scattered books and wrecked furniture, he got to his feet and headed toward his lab.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _Digger wart, sand grass, yellowtail fins…_

Snape's private lab was designed for experimenting. Though the stairs appeared to descend a single storey, the room was deep under his quarters, fortified by the strongest wards, in case of disaster. It was, besides Dumbledore's office and the Room, the safest place in the castle. Here had been his sanctuary. His fortress of solitude. Now his prison. He would not leave until the task was done, or at least had an end in sight.

He skimmed the jars and tins and boxes on the shelves, selecting useful items by instinct. Snail slime for the paralytic delay. Red Morpheus for unconsciousness. Purple moon grass and a dozen other miscellaneous additives. For the cauldron, he picked a small pewter and placed it over low heat, a wooden spoon to stir. Beside it, he placed a blank sheet of parchment with quill and ink for notes then sat on a stool and began to brew.

Initially, after the final battle, Snape had not known he was cursed. All he'd known was that he'd been tortured and survived. Waking in the hospital wing among other survivors and hearing that he would not be carted off to Azkaban to be imprisoned or kissed had been an unexpected gift. Foolishly, he had been grateful. He had wept with joy and in his mind even celebrated the chance at life out of Voldemort's control. He should've ended himself then before he learned the truth.

Both truths, for that matter.

Before he found out about Granger, before the curse made itself known, Dumbledore had dropped a bombshell. The Dark Lord was not dead. Seven horcruxes. Snape shuddered. All destroyed, thank God, save one: Harry Potter's scar. A lovely secret to keep from him for 16 years. Snape had subsequently broken his fist on the Headmaster's desk.

Potter's fortuitous defeat of Voldemort was, apparently, a wrench in Dumbledore's plans. Plans that would've required the boy to willingly eat the Dark Lord's killing curse. There was no way to destroy the soul fragment now with the main body dead. That is, no way that would spare the boy's life. For that reason, no one else could know. If the world knew a piece of Voldemort lived in Potter, they would be out for his blood.

So, while the rest of the wizarding world celebrated Voldemort's official death, the three people in the know dealt with this dilemma in secret. For now, they could only wait and hope the horcrux remained dormant and Potter stayed in control. Little hope there was for that, considering the boy's incompetence with occlumency.

He dropped a troll hair into the cauldron and watched as it dissolved.

Little hope there was for anything anymore.

…

Hours passed and the lab desks filled with cauldrons full of experimental brews, permutations of combinations of cauldron type, temperature, ingredients, proportion, stirs, timing, all bubbling and hissing in their designated spots. Snape's single parchment became 37, covered in small, thready letters and idiosyncratic diagrams of formulae and procedures. There was no breakthrough in sight and a dozen meltdowns on the horizon, including himself. Endlessly running up and down stifling explosions and clearing noxious gasses was starting to take its toll, and chasing Draughts of Peace with Pepper-up did nothing to help. After an ineffective shot of coffee flooed up from the kitchens, Snape passed out in an armchair chair in his elf-repaired living room.

"Severus."

Snape jolted awake to a giant green image of Dumbledore's head rippling in the fireplace. "What can I do for you, Headmaster?"

"I called you earlier, Severus. Your floo was blocked."

He sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. "I was in bed. I did not want to be disturbed."

The green head raised a brow. "Perhaps you should go back to it. You don't look too well."

"I never look well."

"All the more reason to get more rest."

"No rest for the wicked, Headmaster. Do you have a task for me?"

"I simply wished to know what pressing matter kept you from today's staff meeting."

Snape sagged into his seat. "It slipped my mind. Apologies. I'll see Pomona for the minutes."

"Never mind," said Dumbledore. "You missed very little. My only concern is that it slipped your mind. You're rarely forgetful. Are you coming down with something? Perhaps a checkup with Madam Pomfrey is in order."

"No. It's nothing," Snape said quickly. "Just too many papers and potions. I just need a vacation."

"Well, summer is just around the corner. With the students away and Voldemort officially gone, you should find ample time to relax."

"Yes." Snape stared at Dumbledore, wondering at his true purpose. It couldn't be just to check up after a missed meeting. Could it be that he knew? Was this a test? Was he waiting for him to come clean? No. He couldn't know. He wouldn't pretend not to know something like this. Snape forced himself to appear relaxed.

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "We do need to discuss what we're going to do about Harry."

Snape masked relief with a snicker. "Funny you think to involve me this time. You had the boy's fate planned out from womb to grave not long ago."

"I did not intend for Harry to die, Severus. believe it or not."

Snape leaned back and tapped the chair arms with his fingers. "Right. You were hoping _love_ would save his ass again."

"Indeed, I was banking on it."

Snape rolled his eyes.

Dumbledore's twinkled in the flames. "Voldemort thought that he had thwarted Lily's protective power by absorbing Harry's blood, but in doing so he also diluted his own power over Harry. Lily's blood could not kill the boy she died to save."

"And why not just tell me instead of making me believe you'd set him up to die and deceived me all these years?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I wasn't sure it would work. It was too much conjecture to give you false hope. Perhaps I feared talking about it might be bad luck."

Snape glared at the elder wizard. "You just like holding all the cards and rolling all the dice. Sacrificing all the pawns. I wonder every day that I survived your scheming."

"You agreed to be my chess piece, Severus."

"For a lie."

"It was not a lie. Merely an uncertainty."

"Semantics."

"Nonetheless, you agreed."

"I did," Snape conceded.

"And you were my most valuable."

Snape's mouth twisted. "When the Dark Lord slit my throat, he said he regretted it. I wonder which of you regretted it more."

"I'd always…hoped…." Dumbledore trailed off and took a while to speak again. "I see myself in you, Severus. I hoped that you might come to love Harry and trade your pain for peace."

"Grant you your fairytale ending."

The Headmaster smiled kindly. "I can't help wanting you to be happy."

Snape sighed at the flaming head. "Then you shall forever want."

…

A cry in the dark was swallowed by sudden self-consciousness. Hermione jolted upright, huffing and puffing out of breath, her wand clenched in her sweaty hand, ready to smite the demons from her dreams. Bit by bit, the chill of cold sweat, restored her clarity until she knew where she was. She sat up and tucked her head to her knees as images and voices ripped through her consciousness. The madman's wand aglow. Hands around her neck, squeezing. Pitch black eyes.

No lights were turning on or concerned inquiries coming her way. Her silencing charms had worked. She congratulated herself on that as well as not cursing holes into anything while she was asleep. Once was a fluke. Twice would draw attention. And she did not want anyone asking questions.

She grabbed her pillow from behind her and with a wave of her wand and a muttered spell, it began to shrink and morph into a hardcover notebook with a Muggle pen inside.

" _Lumos_."

By the light of her wand, she began to record her dream. It was the same as yesterday and the day before and the day before that. On her back in a dark wet place surrounded by demons. The only change was the intensity. Every night it was realer than the last. Their voices louder. The ground colder. After tonight, she had no choice but to accept that it wasn't a dream at all, but a memory. She'd seen his face. Not the foggy, blank face of a dream man, but a real face. Snape's.

She lay back and stared at the ceiling. The dream, her memory, always stopped there. She put her arms above her head like how he'd held her down and tried to imagine it. Cold. Heavy. So weak. Dim, black eyes. She rolled onto her side and curled up, shaking and trying not to cry, even though no one would hear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and so Hermione was trying on clothes and fixing her hair, getting ready to visit the town beyond the castle gates, not because she wanted to, but because that was normal, and to do anything other than normal was to acknowledge that her life was officially over. What she _wanted_ to do was get back in bed and realize that last night had been a dream. But sleeping in would raise questions. Her roommates would gossip about her and bring up the nightmares, then the other girls would find out. Then the boys would find out. Then Ron would find out. And then she'd have to lie to him, because there was no way she was going to tell him what happened. It had not happened. _Nothing_ happened. And while she was pretending that, she reassured herself that it would not happen again. But that was harder to do, because it required acknowledging that it _had_ happened in the first place. It had _not_ happened, and the things she'd written in her journal, were not memories but dreams. She just needed to clear her head, and a trip to Hogsmeade with her friends would do that.

She stared at the disaster in the mirror trying to decide if she should tie her hair up or leave it down. Ron liked it down, but she wasn't in the mood to deal with a woolly mammoth sitting on her neck. She summoned a small green hair tie from her trunk and pulled the wild locks up.

On second thought, if she left it up, Ron would complain, and she'd rather deal with the mammoth. She pulled out the band and shook her hair out, then put on her best 'I'm ok' face and went downstairs.

Two days ago, she was like everyone else, celebrating the end Voldemort and thinking about her future. Yesterday, her future burned to ash. But only she knew, and she was going to keep it that way.

She smiled brightly when she saw the boys in the Common Room. As they made their way to the gate, she listened to them gab about what they wanted to do in Hogsmeade. Other students walking around them were laughing and chatting about nonsense as though the world were some bright candy-flavored rainbow. The conversation drifted to post-graduation plans. She didn't bother to contribute. She started making a mental list of the binding curse references she needed to go through later in the restricted section. The answer had to be there somewhere. Snape might be too lazy or too content to do anything about the curse, but she wasn't about to spend the rest of her life running to him for a sha—

"How about you, Hermione? You haven't said a word."

She nearly jumped out of her skin. "Oh. Sorry, Harry. Just…thinking about my study schedule. I've got to make sure I have time to review everything before exams."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I don't know why you're even worried about the tests. They're months away. That's plenty of time to cram."

"Not everyone thrives off the stress of cramming, Ron," she said, faking a smile. "I'd like to spread my studying out over more than an hour before the tests."

"Hey, I give it more than that."

"If you count banging your head on a textbook while whinging about how boring it is, then sure."

"I've heard head banging is really effective for studying," said Harry.

Ron gave Hermione a sly look and spoke low in her ear. "I'd rather do other kinds of banging."

She stifled a cringe and the urge to move away. Ever since the war ended, he'd been giving her hints that he wanted to take their relationship to "the next level," and it wasn't marriage. It might've been better if she'd slept with Ron already before everything happened, just to pass that milestone, but now she could hardly stand the idea of kissing, let alone anything else.

As they reached the gate, an awful dread shot up Hermione's spine. She stopped in her tracks. "I can't go," she said, a panicked look on her face.

"What? It was just a joke," said Ron.

"Something wrong?" asked Harry.

"No, it's just…" She fought the urge to hug herself and made her face relax. "I have a lot to do. NEWTs coming up and all. I think I'll just stay in the castle. You two have fun." She backed away from the gate and the dreadful feeling decreased.

Ron huffed in exasperation. "Come on, Hermione. Don't be a wet mop. Have a little fun once in a while. It'll be good for you."

Hermione tried not to let the fear show on her face. "No, I can't go any further, I mean, anymore." She rubbed at tightness in her chest.

"Come on. We've come all this way, Hermione," added Harry chuckling. "Besides you've been eating more books than food lately."

"No. Really, I have to—"

Ron grabbed her wrist and pulled her beyond the gate.

"Wait, Ron. No!" Her vision darkened, and her equilibrium abruptly shifted. "I said no!" she shouted, and then yanked her hand away. She hurried to apologize and explain, but when she opened her eyes she saw, not a freckled face and a shaggy red head, but a hooked nose, lank greasy hair, and gaping black eyes. With a shout, she jolted upright, and shuffled backward into a pile of pillows. She threw one at Snape, then summoned her wand and aimed it at his face.

Snape threw his hands up in defense and in his haste to get away, knocked over a tray table.

"What did you do to me?" Hermione shouted, her eyes not leaving the slimy git.

Snape gritted his teeth and gave no answer. He bowed his head so that the black oily strings covered his face. He looked like he'd not bathed in ages. Just setting eyes on him, she felt as dirty as he looked.

He bent over and righted the table then gathered the items that had fallen off it and replaced them on top. "I touched your wrist," he said when he had done.

Hermione shuddered. The fact that she could hear Snape's voice meant her inner ears were being touched by sound waves produced by his vocal cords. He was as good as licking her eardrums. His voice was like insects running over her skin. At least he didn't look at her. She didn't want to see those soulless eyes.

She shot a stinging hex at his arm. "Is that all?"

He hissed and rubbed the painful spot, then nodded.

" _Right_." She narrowed her eyes at him then glanced around the room. She was in a bed in the hospital wing. In the dark. Alone with Snape. No other patients or Madam Pomfrey in sight. And she was missing a chunk of time. And there was a rapist standing three yards away. She thrust her wand toward Snape's face and glared a threat to use it. "Why am I here?"

Snape glanced at her then said his answer to the floor. "It seems there is a restriction on the distance you and I may keep. In your attempt to visit Hogsmeade, you exceeded the bounds of the spell and collapsed. Your friends brought you here for treatment, but you could not be roused. I perceived that something was amiss and followed the feeling here."

"Feeling?" she asked.

He nodded.

Her aim faltered as she recalled that weird sensation at the gate, the feeling that something bad would happen if she took another step. And then Ron had pulled her forward and… "And then?"

"You would not wake, and so…I felt…" Snape awkwardly shifted his weight. "It required me to touch you, and so I touched your wrist. And then you woke." He glanced at her and then away again, shuddering slightly. "I swear, I did nothing else."

The room swayed. This wasn't good at all. They were spatially bound. She was a prisoner. They were linked even when the curse wasn't active. She feared finding out just how linked they were. How much more would this curse demand of her?

She took a breath to speak, but someone else spoke first.

"And why the bloody hell would you touching Hermione wake her up?"

Her eyes snapped to an empty spot in front of the bed. Two heads followed by their bodies fluttered out of nothing into view. Before them stood Harry holding his invisibility cloak, looking confused and sheepish and Ron beside him looking pissed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Snape gaped at the intruders for half a second, then quickly recovered. He snarled at the pair. "Weasley. Potter. It is passed curfew. Ten points from—"

"Screw the points, Snape," said Ron, inching toward him. "Answer my bloody question."

Hermione lowered her wand and tried to look casual. "Ron, it's nothing. You misheard."

"No, I didn't." Ron squinted at her. "Madam Pomfrey tried everything in the book to wake you up, but nothing worked. Now Snape touches your hand, and you pop back to life like nothing happened. What's that about?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"Well?"

"Just leave it, please," she said.

Snape headed for the exit.

"Hey, hold on." Ron grabbed his arm.

"Unhand me."

"I want answers."

Snape shoved past him. Ron shoved him back and took out his wand.

"Ron, no!"

In a flash of movement, Ron was on the ground looking up at the business end of his own wand and Snape's sneering yellow teeth.

"Consider yourself expelled, Weasley," said Snape. "Pity. So close to graduation."

Ron jumped up and hurled a fist at Snape. "You son-of-a-bitch!"

Harry grabbed Ron and held him back.

"Ron, stop it," yelled Hermione.

Ron strained against Harry's hold. "What have you done to her, you slimy git?!"

Snape's mouth twitched. "How fortunate that you have Potter here to keep you from making total ass of yourself. Though, he could not save you from becoming half of one."

Ron growled and pulled back another fist. "You mother—"

Harry seized Ron in a bearhug and dragged him backward. "Calm down, mate. He's winding you up."

"Let go, Harry!"

"Yes, Potter. Let go. Let Weasley complete his devolution."

"Will you _shut up_?!" Hermione shouted.

"Somebody bloody tell me what's going on?!"

"There's noth—"

"You're cursed," said Harry, his eyes wide with sudden understanding. "Bound to each other."

An identical look of horror flashed over Hermione and Snape's faces. Harry looked back and forth between them and saw the look they shared.

"It's true, isn't it?"

Hermione looked pleadingly at Harry.

"Nonsense," said Snape, then flung Ron's wand at his feet with sudden disinterest.

Ron stopped struggling with Harry and regarded Snape and Hermione's faces. "What curse?" he asked.

Harry locked eyes with Snape. "I had a vision that night. The night I…defeated him," he said, somewhat disconcerted. "I didn't understand, so I thought it was nonsense, and then in all the chaos after, I forgot. Voldemort cast a spell binding one body to another. Something about pursuit and death and lu…"

Hermione jumped out of the bed and ran toward the exit. Ron lunged after her and grabbed her arms. "Wait, what's he talking about, Hermione?"

"Let me go, Ron." She was on the verge of tears.

Ron tightened his grip and turned to Harry. "And what?" he pressed.

Harry looked back and forth between Hermione and Ron. "Uh…um…" He shook his head. "Let's leave it alone, Ron. It's Hermione's business."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Hermione's business? With Snape? What's her business with Snape?" Ron glared at Snape then back at Harry. "What's this spell, Harry? Pursuit and death and what? Love? Don't tell me she's under a love spell. You've got to be kidding me."

Ron grabbed Hermione's face and forced her to look at him. "Hermione, it's not real. Whatever you're feeling for Snape is a lie. You don't love _him_ , you love _me_!"

Hermione gritted her teeth. "I'm not in love with Snape, Ronald. Don't be disgusting."

"Then what is it?" yelled Ron, shaking her, his voice fraught with desperation. "If it's not love, then wha—"

"Lust," said Snape. The curt utterance cut through the room.

Ron raked Hermione with scrutinizing eyes, searching her for an explanation.

Hermione wrenched away from him and glared at Snape. "Who told you to say anything?"

"It is all but known already," Snape said, only half meeting her gaze.

"That's not for _you_ to decide!"

"What's he mean by 'lust', 'Mione?" Ron asked, his voice shaky. "You're not feeling anything weird about Snape, are you?" He looked pleadingly at her.

Hermione huffed. "For the last time, Ron, no. All I feel for Snape is the usual: _contempt_."

Ron looked into her eyes for a long while then gradually seemed to accept her words. He summoned his wand from the floor and pointed it at Snape, his face a wrinkled mask of rage. "So, then you're lusting after her? _My_ girlfriend? You ugly, hawk-nosed git?"

"Ron, don't do anything foolish," said Harry, wand in hand as well.

"Stay out of this, Harry. Or tell me what you know, and maybe I won't kill this bastard right now."

"I know as much as you do," Harry said. "I think we should leave them to figure it out. Whatever it is, I'm sure they have it handled, Ron. Hermione obviously doesn't want to talk."

Ron seethed. "He's doing something to her. I just know it." He took a step toward Snape. "What have you done to Hermione, you pervert? Confess now, and I'll leave some pieces for the aurors."

Snape exhaled slowly, then his lips tightened at the corners and spread into a sinister grin. His eyes darkened beyond their normal pitch, and his voice came out black to match. "You want to know so badly, Weasley? I'll make it plain for you."

"Don't you open your mouth," said Hermione, her magic rippling in warning.

Snape continued unfazed. "Your _girlfriend_ and I are bound by a curse cast by the Dark Lord. The reason she collapsed outside the castle and only I could restore her is because the curse limits her physical distance from me. And the meaning of _lust_ that you're so curious about is what I did to her in bed."

Hermione screamed and ran off. A wave of magic rushed from her and nearly knocked the others off their feet.

Harry staggered then ran after her.

Ron blinked rapidly, processing what he'd heard, then blasted Snape into the wall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The Room of Requirement had been a place of refuge for the past few years. The go-to place whenever Harry was in trouble or in need. It was a place to train when danger was imminent, a place to rest when he was tired, a place to relax when he was stressed, a place to blow off steam when he was angry. Best of all, it was a place to hide when he didn't want to be found. He'd helped train the DA in this room and thwarted Death Eaters in this room. The magical space that changed its layout according to one's needs usually filled him with wonder, but right now he wanted to be anywhere but here, listening to anything but the not so hushed conversation his two best friends were having on the other side of the room.

He would've gone back to the common room by himself and let them talk privately had Hermione not insisted that he should know the whole truth instead of just the half he'd gotten from his vision. Honestly, Harry didn't want to know. He would've loved to obliviate his mind of that wretched vision and the similarly horrifying revelations of the past half-hour. But Hermione was his friend, and he wasn't going to abandon her to her problems just because he was squeamish. If the truth was what it seemed to be, then she would need all the support he could give.

Of course Voldemort hadn't been the type to die easily. He just _had_ to take people down with him.

Harry ran frustrated hands through his hair. They were supposed to be celebrating, but the bad news kept coming. First that bit about the snake bastard living in his head, and now this horrid curse on his best friend. He'd been foolish to think the fight was over.

"What the hell is this curse, Hermione?"

"You heard Snape. What more do you want to know?"

Harry leaned against the wall opposite the couple, watching their gestures as the room echoed their words to him. He didn't know why it thought he needed to hear everything.

"For all I know, he was just spouting nonsense to piss me off. I want to hear your explanation."

Harry recalled the fiasco in the hospital wing and shook his head with an exasperated sigh. Snape had probably been bluffing about the expulsion before, but now that Ron had actually attacked him, there was nothing anyone could say if he didn't get to graduate. Snape hadn't even put up a fight. Thinking of it now, Harry wondered how Ron had beaten him so thoroughly when just moments before, Snape had easily knocked him on his ass.

He turned his back to the pair and pretended to be interested in the dots on the wall. _I need something to…_ Before he completed the thought, a box of Lego appeared at his feet. Automatically, he sat down in front of it and started snapping pieces together.

…

After several tense minutes, Hermione's explanation came to a close, and Harry felt his whole body tighten. Damn Voldemort. He was going to kill him. For real this time. No way he'd let him rise again. He was going to grind up his incorporeal ass and feed him to pixies. He threw down the plastic bricks and put his head in his hands. This was all because he hadn't ended that bastard quickly enough. If he had defeated him sooner. If he had tried harder, been stronger...

"It ever cross your mind Snape's lying?" shouted Ron.

Harry looked over his shoulder. Ron was bearing down on Hermione, red-faced and nostrils flared, and Hermione was looking very small, hugging herself, half turned away. Harry had never seen her look so vulnerable. It just wasn't right. He abandoned the Legos and made his way over.

"Well? How are you so bloody sure? It's not like you've actually done anything."

Hermione didn't answer Ron, but she seemed to unfold a little at Harry's approach.

"Ron, stop." Harry put a hand on the redhead's shoulder and tried to guide him away from Hermione.

Ron shoved his him off. "You haven't," he said, his tone daring Hermione to contradict him.

She turned her back, but Harry saw the tears brimming in her eyes.

Ron grabbed her elbow and tried to pull her around. "Hermione, you haven't. Just say you haven't done anything."

Harry touched Ron's shoulder again. "Alright. Why don't you talk later when—"

"Are you fucking stupid?!" Ron wrenched Hermione around shouted in her face. "Are you mad?! You shagged Snape?!" His face was tomato red and the whites of his eyes were popping out. He let loose a spray of obscenities and spit while shaking Hermione by the arm, totally heedless of the tears streaming down her cheeks. "How could you?!"

Harry was too shocked to move, but only for a second. He slammed the edge of his hand onto Ron's wrist to make him let Hermione go then got between them.

Ron's fists clenched and his nostrils flared in and out. "What the hell is with you, Harry?! You're taking _her_ side?! I thought you were my friend!"

"I _am_ your friend. That's why I'm stopping you from doing something you'll regret."

"Oh? What, did _I_ fuck Snape?"

"There's no need to be vulgar. You can discuss this like adults without hurting each other."

"You think this hurts?! How about I go down on McGonagall?!"

"Hey, don't be nasty."

"It's alright, Harry," said Hermione. She wiped her face with her sleeve. "Let him say what he wants. I want to hear how he really feels."

"No," said Ron, giving her a dirty look. "I wanna know how _you_ felt."

Hermione sniffled. "What?"

Ron sneered. "Snape. How was he? Any good?"

Hermione's eyes widened like a house elf's. "What are you asking me, Ron?"

Ron shoved into Harry and looked down at Hermione over his shoulder. "It's a simple question, Hermione. Did you _like_ it?"

"That's _enough_ , Ron." Harry had to fight himself not to punch his best friend. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Now he was really glad he hadn't left them alone.

Hermione's mouth was slack. She looked at Ron like he'd warped into an alien. She turned away, dabbing moisture from her cheek. "I can't believe you said that."

"Well, I can't believe you bloody slept with _Snape_. Now answer the question. I have a right to know."

Ron shoved forward again. Harry pushed him back and spoke into his ear. "If you touch her, I'm laying you out."

That seemed to cool Ron's head a bit. He stepped back and put his hands in his pockets.

"Well, I'm sorry. I can't satisfy your _right_ to know," said Hermione, "because I don't know anything. He gave me a potion and knocked me out."

Ron eased up as he processed this new information. "So, he drugged you. The bastard drugged you?" He still sounded angry, but the rage in his face started to fade.

"I drugged myself," Hermione said. "It was either that or be aware of everything. There was nothing else I could do."

"How about not fucking Snape?"

"I _had_ to," yelled Hermione. She wrapped her arms around herself, giving herself the comfort Ron wasn't offering. "I was in so much pain. I thought I was going to die."

"Yeah, well maybe you should've bloody…" Ron swallowed his last word and gritted his teeth. His finger-ruffled hair was a wild mess. "So, you were out the whole time?"

Harry didn't get why, but that knowledge had changed Ron's whole demeanor. It was strange, but he was grateful nonetheless for the de-escalation.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"And you can't remember any of it?" Ron pressed.

"As I wasn't aware when it happened, there's no way I could _remember_."

"Fine. So, when did it happen?"

Hermione hesitated.

"That day you were sick," said Ron. "You missed dinner. Snape wasn't there either. You were with him, weren't you?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes."

Ron snarled then started pacing. His fists clenched and unclenched as his eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at Hermione. "And were you ever gonna tell me?"

"Of course I would have."

"When? After I proposed? Once we were married? When one of our kids came out looking like _Snape_?"

"No, I would've…I wouldn't've kept it from you for so long. I just wanted to get a handle on things before I told you everything. I had to come to terms with it myself first."

"Come to _terms_?" shouted Ron. "Why are you just accepting this?!"

"What else am I supposed to do?" Hermione shouted back.

"How about trying to break the damn spell?!"

"Don't you think I've been trying?! What do you think I've been doing in the library day and night? I've read every book on binding spells, marriage spells, slave curses. I've tried to fix it, but nothing works! I just have to live with it!"

"It's disgusting!"

"Well then, I'm disgusting, Ron, because that's my reality!"

Ron finally took a good look at Hermione and seemed to realize he was hurting her. Something like remorse flicked across his face. "No. You're not disgusting, Hermione. It's Snape. He's the one…nasty git's taking advantage. Bloody hell. Does he at least…" He rubbed his forehead. "You're not gonna get…"

"What, STDs? Pregnant?"

Ron exhaled sharply and turned his back. "Bloody hell."

Hermione stared at Ron's back, but he didn't look at her again. She stepped past Harry and touched Ron's his arm, but he jerked away.

Harry ran a shaky hand through his hair then stepped forward next to Hermione. He put an arm around her shoulder and gestured to the door. "Let's go."

As they headed to the exit, a man-sized training dummy draped in black cloth appeared in the middle of the room. Harry knew Ron wouldn't come out until he'd blown it to pieces.

He pulled Hermione into the hallway, and the Room of Requirement's entrance disappeared with finality.

Then Hermione broke down crying.

Harry hugged and soothed her like Ron should've done instead of acting like a bloody idiot. He didn't say it was going to be alright or that she would be ok eventually. He simply promised to destroy Voldemort so he could never hurt anyone again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 _gonna kill him…_

 _…stop, Ron you'll…_

 _what's wrong with her…_

 _… feel his…_

 _pain…dread…_

 _think I'll die if he does…_

In the dream, he was dying, and the girl was screaming. His pain was hers and hers was his, and their lives faded in unison.

Snape lay half-asleep in a haze of mint and jasmine, dim lights, and a clean, antiseptic smell. He was sore all over and covered in bandages. Weasley had a paltry repertoire of offensive spells, but he used them effectively. He groaned and winced. Madam Pomfrey was fluffing his pillow while he groggily protested.

"I'm fine, Poppy. Just let me sleep," Snape said.

"You need adequate neck support or you'll have a crick when you wake up. It is my duty to prevent forestallable medical ails. Now be patient while I adjust you." The matron reached behind his head with a hand on either side and fluffed his pillow.

"Was fine before," Snape complained, pressing his head into the elevated heap. "It's too high."

"Any lower and you'll snore."

"I don't snore."

"Because I've adjusted your pillow."

Snape resumed groaning and let the mediwitch fuss over him, secretly enjoying her attention. It took his mind off his suffering to pretend someone gave a damn about him, though he didn't delude himself enough to believe she'd dare touch him were she not getting paid.

"Excuse me, Poppy." The headmaster poked his head through the curtain around Snape's bed. "May I speak to Severus a moment?"

Snape tensed on seeing Dumbledore and gripped the sheet as the he came closer.

Madam Pomfrey performed her last fluff then brushed a strand of hair from Snape's exhausted face. "Very well, I'll give you five minutes. Don't rouse him too much, Albus. He needs his rest."

"I'll be gentle with him, Poppy. Promise."

Snape turned half-lidded eyes to Dumbledore. "Thanks for the rescue." He attempted a smirk, but it faded to weariness. "What brings you, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore interlocked his fingers. "I came to inform you of Ronald Weasley's fate."

"What for? I know you haven't expelled him, Albus."

Dumbledore nodded. "You are correct. Mr. Weasley will not be expelled, but he has been given a month of detentions. I hope you will be able to tolerate that decision."

Snape chuckled. "S'fine," he slurred. "Don't expect you to break your habit of protecting Gryffindors who try to murder me."

Dumbledore sighed deeply and patted Snape on the arm. "I know that you let yourself be beaten, Severus, and I ask that in the future you not allow yourself to be so gravely injured."

Snape's eyes drifted shut then opened again. "Best to let them…blow off steam…early on."

"Why did you not come to me, Severus?" asked Dumbledore. The old wizard sounded somewhat hurt.

"I didn't want you to know."

"Did you think I would misjudge you?"

Snape sighed his answer.

"Then you misjudge me, Severus. I am aware of Voldemort's penchant for cruelty. That he would cast a curse such as this is not surprising."

"Still…" Snape shook his head. "It's not something I wished you to know. You cannot help anyway. The curse is unbreakable."

"Are you certain?" Dumbledore asked.

"He said so. He said he would make me worse than…than what I despise. I would be despicable. And I am. He's done it. Or I always have been. But I liked your pretending."

"You are far from despicable, Severus."

Snape sighed again and closed his eyes.

Dumbledore shook his shoulder. "Before you nod off, I must inform you that I have organized a meeting of sorts to discuss the circumstances between you and Miss Granger. It should take place tomorrow morning, assuming Poppy lets you out of bed. Is that agreeable to you?"

Snape tried to force his eyes open, but his exhaustion was too great. "What choice do I have?" he said. Then his breathing took on a gentle, even hiss, and he fell asleep.

…

He felt the same tension as he used to in meetings of Voldemort's inner circle. This time, instead of a snake-faced Dark Lord and his avid supporters meeting in some dark, dank hiding place, it was a wizened school headmaster, his deputy, his school matron, and his Golden Trio gathered in the headmaster's office, the phoenix asleep on its perch taking the place of the Dark Lord's monstrous snake.

Beside Snape on his left sat the matron, fussing about his pallor and grumbling about the meeting's inconsiderate timing. On his right at the head of the table sat the headmaster, stroking his beard and not at all subtly glancing back and forth between him and Granger. The Golden Trio sat across from him with Potter by Dumbledore, Weasley in the middle, and Granger next to McGonagall, who sat opposite the headmaster.

From the looks on their faces, which weren't properly disgusted, McGonagall and Pomfrey didn't yet know what the meeting was about. Aside from that first glance, he kept his head down, not wanting to see the change in their eyes and the dissolution of any respect they might've had for him. The three students, on the other hand, looked properly outraged by his existence. All attendants to the meeting had realized instantly that it was a grave matter when the headmaster for once appeared in tasteful robes, sat in a simple armchair, and made no offers of lemony sweets. That gravity had set the tone. Now, Snape sat biting the inside of his mouth, waiting for the bombs to drop and mentally cursing Dumbledore for insisting this meeting take place.

"Thank you all for coming," said Dumbledore, clasping his hands over the table. "Although it should be a time of celebration, considering all we have witnessed and endured during the dark years past, I'm afraid there is a grave matter to discuss. To cut to the chase, it has recently come to my attention that, before his defeat, Voldemort placed a curse on Professor Snape and Miss Granger whose effects are rather…" He trailed off and started again. "The particulars are of a delicate nature. Suffice it to say, Professor Snape and Miss Granger must follow the curse's demands, lest they perish."

Pomfrey gasped. "What curse? What demands? I've sensed no such thing in my medical scans."

Severus bit his tongue as Dumbledore explained using a number of euphemisms and analogies.

"You're being awfully vague, Headmaster," said McGonagall. "Can you not be more precise?"

Dumbledore turned to Snape. "Severus would you please explain?"

Snape shifted in his seat and felt his newly healed muscles twinge with remnant soreness. He racked his brain for the appropriate words, words that explained but didn't tell more than they must. "Miss Granger and I are magically bound," he said. "The curse Voldemort cast requires our close proximity and repeated interaction. You needn't know more than that."

"What sort of interaction?" asked McGonagall. "We must know what we're up against."

"Not we," he said. "You have no part in this."

She frowned. "But, perhaps we can help. Perhaps Filius—"

"No!" he snapped. "No one else."

At Snape's reaction McGonagall raised a fierce brow. Snape looked sheepishly at his hands.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened with alarm. She turned to Snape beside her with too much concern and sympathy. "When did this happen, Severus?" she asked.

"The day Voldemort was killed," said Snape, avoiding her too kind eyes.

"And there is no way to break this curse?"

He shook his head.

"There is no specific countercurse as far as we currently know," said Dumbledore. "However, I have enlisted a cursebreaker to come and see how he might amend the situation. Mr. Weasley is one of the best in his field, not simply because of his ability, but because of his tenacity. He has assured me that he will exhaust all options to break the curse."

"Wait. You mean Bill?" said Weasley. "My brother's coming to Hogwarts?" He leaned back contentedly in his seat. "Well, I guess that makes me feel a bit better. If anyone can do it, he can."

"It can't be done," Snape said testily, unable to bear further silence while this idiocy was spoken so casually. "The curse was created by Voldemort to drive his victims insane. Anyone who thinks it can be broken by a mere cursebreaker with _tenacity_ is already mad."

Weasley scowled at him. "You just don't want it broken."

"What is the curse exactly?" asked McGonagall, piercing Snape with scrutiny.

Snape turned his eyes downward again. "I don't know the name of the curse or the incantation, as I was indisposed during its casting," he said. "I only know the aftermath."

"I'm afraid I still do not understand, Severus," McGonagall said. "You must know something about it to have determined that you are indeed cursed. Neither you nor the headmaster has explained it very clearly at all. What are the specifics of the conditions binding you and Miss Granger? You speak of fulfilling demands, but you haven't said what those demands are. What precisely does fulfilling this curse entail?"

"It is a delicate topic, Minerva," said Dumbledore.

"As Miss Granger's head of house, I am entitled to specifics."

Dumbledore sighed. "As Severus has said, we do not know such details as the name or wording of the curse, but what we have gathered up to this point is that it requires its victims to remain in the same location and, to put it bluntly, it requires intercourse."

McGonagall started. "As in…"

"For fuck's sake, Minerva! Do you need a bloody diagram?" Snape shouted. "What the bloody fuck do you think it means, _talking_? It was so damned important that you all gather here to grill me about a curse that forces fucking _conversations_. Use bloody common sense!"

McGonagall fixed him with a look of tightlipped shock, her face wavering between outrage and pity. It settled on pity.

Snape sagged into his seat and bowed his head, covering his face with his hair. "Forgive me," he muttered.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As Severus has said, the curse requires its victims to engage in sexual intercourse at its bidding."

The explosion happened as Snape figured, as did the changes in the two women's eyes. He did not look at them again. He kept his eyes down and his hair in front of them as he answered their questions.

…

The meeting dragged on. For the third time, Snape detailed the sensations brought on by the curse and how he knew he must act to avoid death.

"The signal originates in the upper spine, between the shoulders. It begins as discomfort, then progresses to pain. Eventually, it affects the nerves and voluntary muscle function, at which point action must be taken."

"But can you be sure?" asked Pomfrey.

"I am certain," he said.

"How do you know all this, Professor Snape?" asked McGonagall, a knife's edge in her tone.

Snape scraped chalky gunk off the inside of his mouth with his dried-up tongue. "I-I just…know."

"You have claimed to know so little about this curse, and yet you are certain in this particular instance. Why?"

"Be-Because…" Snape wrung his hands together on his lap. "Because that is what…happened."

Pomfrey gasped beside him. "You mean you have already had relations?"

Thunder cracked. Snape snapped his eyes toward McGonagall. The air around her was dark and thick. Tendrils of magic whipped around her like a deadly aura.

"Severus Snape." Her voice reverberated with promises of pain. "Have you had sexual intercourse with Miss Granger?"

Snape shuddered like a child before his father's belt and gripped his chair arms with pale, twiggy fingers. After a long, tense hesitation with his heart and stomach punching into his ribs, he answered, "Yes."

McGonagall leapt from her seat and whipped her wand at him. He saw a red flash, then Dumbledore's arm shot out and a blocked whatever spell she had cast.

"With a _student_!" McGonagall yelled and sent another hex flying.

"Minerva, please calm yourself," said Dumbledore.

McGonagall turned vicious eyes to the elder wizard. "Did you not hear what he said, Headmaster?!"

"I did hear him, Professor McGonagall. And I heard as well the other details, including the fact that he was forced to do so by a curse that would have taken both his and Miss Granger's lives had he not."

McGonagall, with great effort, reined in her rage and sat down again.

"Severus." Dumbledore squeezed Snape's shoulder. "Can you not tell us how you know what it is that the curse would have you do?"

Snape's throat was closing. He tugged his collar and tried to inhale, but it seemed like his lungs were in a vice. He could feel everyone staring at him, hear them cursing him in his mind. He wished desperately to disappear. "As I recognize…hunger," he finally managed to say, "I recognize the curse's demands. I can't explain it any better."

"Have you anything to add, Hermione," asked Dumbledore.

The girl said nothing.

"I think it best for all to have openness regarding what you must do with Miss Granger, Severus. Would you please tell us how you have gone about accomplishing the task?"

Snape took another long pause to collect himself before he tried to answer. "There has only been one incident." He forced the words out like stones. "Miss Granger was…made unaware throughout the process."

Weasley made an incredulous sound. "How do we know Snape's not making this all up? This could be some sick plot to get Hermione. Dirty bastard."

"Mr. Weasley—"

"Let him answer, Dumbledore," McGonagall said, her ire still crackling.

Snape's insides were like a sun. All the moisture had dried up in his throat and left a charred crust that he couldn't clear away. "I feel the…urges…" he squeezed out, "as well as a sort of…instinct regarding h-how to…satisfy—"

"You fucking bastard!" Weasley shouted and reached over the table. Potter grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him back down.

"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore firmly but calmly said, "if you cannot control yourself, we will continue without you."

"Listen to him talking about satisfying himself with Hermione! My girlfriend! _Mine_! He's the one who should control himself!"

Snape started to imagine a cold glass of firewhiskey sitting in his hand. He had none left in his quarters, but the house elves might have, and he could have some bottles owled to him in a day or two. "I meant that I must satisfy the curse's demands or else we will both be harmed." He crushed the imaginary glass. "I tried to resist," he said. "I-I would've…endured the discomfort, but when I tried to do so, Miss Granger began to have a seizure. The…instinct…urged me to act, or she would die." He swallowed a wad of spit and dared try for eye contact with the girl. "I-I did it to save—"

"Save your breath!" Granger yelled, her first words of the meeting.

Snape shrank back into himself and said no more.

"Won't you tell us your side, Hermione?" McGonagall's motherly tone gave no hint of her recent violence.

Granger cleared her throat then began to tell her version of events. "I was feeling sick all of a sudden," she said. "Pains up my spine and in my stomach. Madam Pomfrey couldn't cure me. Professor Snape came and got me from the hospital wing and said he had a potion that would help, but I had to go to his quarters to take it. I went to his quarters, and he had me look in a pensieve. Then he shoved a potion at me and said that the cure was us shagging and the potion would knock me out so I'd be _insensible_ during the procedure." She sniffled a bit then continued. "I didn't want to, but…I felt so horrible. I let him talk me into it. I took the potion and woke up after he was done. I don't remember anything that happened, but I know it happened."

"Is Miss Granger's account true, Severus?" asked the deputy headmistress.

Snape softly answered, "Yes."

"You lured a student into your quarters and coerced her into sexual intercourse?" McGonagall sounded like a brewing storm.

"I didn't… _coerce_ ," said Snape. "I merely explained what had to be done."

" _Had_ to be?"

"It would've killed us. I witnessed its power."

"Miss Granger, were you given freedom to choose how you would proceed?"

"I…he…" She trailed off and the room waited in silence for her answer. "He threatened me."

Snape's eyes bugged out. " _What?_ "

McGonagall blocked him with her hand. "Threatened you how, Miss Granger?"

"He said he'd force me anyway if I didn't take it."

Snape sat up like he might leap across the table. "I _never_ said—"

"You implied it!"

He stared at Granger for a moment then sat back without another word.

"Nothing to say, Professor Snape?" asked McGonagall, not hiding her disgust.

Snape's mouth trembled and his vision liquified. He ducked his face to hide behind his hair. "If Miss Granger believes I forced her, I obviously did a poor job reassuring her of her free will."

"What free will?" Granger said.

Snape didn't answer.

"All right. What's done is done," said Dumbledore. "Let us return to the main issue, which is how to keep you both alive. At present, I see no recourse besides allowing the curse to play out as long as it must."

Snape began to occlude his mind from that point. It was not the type of occlumency that blocked intrusions from other minds, but one that blocked his own thoughts from rising to consciousness. He dove through his thoughts into a pool of endless depth, sinking far from knowing and awareness, and fading from the light. He bit his tongue to gauge how deep he plunged, and when the pain became only a faint pressure, he stopped.

"As we now know the victims of this curse cannot be too far from each other," said Dumbledore, "I grant permission for both to remain at Hogwarts indefinitely. Miss Granger, if you so desire, I will arrange a position for you next term."

"Why did you take such a course of action, Severus?" McGonagall cut in. "Surely you could've consulted Madam Pomfrey or St. Mungo's or found a cursebreaker yourself."

Dumbledore raised a hand to stop her questions. "We are not here to judge, Minerva. Merely to understand the situation so that we can offer support. For both parties."

Snape squeezed his collar around his neck. The only support he wanted was a scaffold. No offer of the other kind was forthcoming anyway.

McGonagall spoke now to Granger. "I can't imagine this being easy for you, Hermione, regardless of your awareness during the ordeal. If you ever need to talk or want or need anything at all, don't hesitate to come to me."

"There is something I want," Granger said.

"What's that, my dear?"

"I want him fired."

Snape went statue still.

"She's right," said Weasley. "Snape's got to be fired. You can't have someone on staff shagging students between classes."

"That is not exactly an accurate description of the circumstances," said Dumbledore.

"What's more accurate then, lures them into his quarters then drugs them and rapes them?"

"This is a peculiar situation, you must realize—"

"Peculiar or not, I'm not taking lessons from a child rapist."

"That is a serious allegation, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said sternly. "I must point out that Miss Granger is legally an adult and, unless I am mistaken, has consented to the course of treatment, disagreeable though it undoubtedly is."

"Stop calling it a bloody treatment?" Granger yelled. "He bloody drugged me and ra—"

"I resign!" shouted Snape. "There. It's settled." He hunched forward, almost doubling over in his chair. His hair hung in sweaty ribbons over his pale skin, and he was visibly trembling.

Dumbledore frowned. "Severus…"

Snape shook his head. Pomfrey touched his arm and he jerked away.

"Very well," said the headmaster. "You will no longer be in charge of students. There will be a substitute for Defense, and Horace will be the Head of Slytherin house until further notice. As such, Severus, I would have you resume maintenance of the Hospital Wing's potion stocks."

Snape didn't acknowledge him.

"We should do something to make sure his conduct is appropriate," said Weasley. "Make him swear an oath not to do more than what will fulfil the curse."

Snape mechanically reached for his right arm and rolled up his sleeve.

Dumbledore stopped him before he could speak. "An oath on top of this kind of curse is too risky. It could prove a hindrance to any attempts to undermine it, as he could not vow to only fulfil the curse and then assist the breaking of it. It could put both lives in danger."

They discussed various ways to keep Snape in check and make sure he did not take advantage, but the ideas were either too dangerous or too invasive, and Granger had a fit when McGonagall suggested they be monitored.

"Who makes a spell like this?" Madam Pomfrey said when the talk had settled down again.

"Voldemort was fond of making spectacles of his victims," said Dumbledore. "A curse such as this is not beyond his warped imagination."

"You sure it was him that made it?" said Weasley. "We know how Snape has a knack for making nasty curses."

"What do you mean by this, Mr. Weasley?" asked McGonagall.

" _Sectumsempra_ ring a bell? Bloody curse that killed Colin Creevey. Snape made it. Who's to say he didn't make this one too?"

"Is that true Severus?"

Snape opened his mouth and struggled to get words out.

Dumbledore saved him the trouble. "Regardless of the curse's inventor, Severus assuredly did not cast it on himself."

"No, he just passed it on to Voldemort to curse my girlfriend to fuck him. Is that how your master rewarded you Death Eaters? Is that what you wanted with Harry's mother?"

Potter slammed a hand on the desk. "You're bloody _mad_ bringing my mum into this!"

"He's not denying it," Ron yelled back.

Snape stood up with a mumbled "Excuse me, Headmaster" and headed for the door while the argument raged behind him. Dumbledore called him back, but he didn't turn around. He rushed outside and scrambled down the spiral staircase, shoved past the gargoyle into the hallway, and vomited onto the floor. A nearby portrait shrieked in disgust. He quickly cleaned up the mess and composed himself in two deep breaths. Then scowling deeply, he pointed his wand at the painted witness. "If you ever speak of this, I will carve out your mouth."

The portrait woman covered her mouth with dainty hands and nodded vigorously. Snape tucked his wand back up his sleeve, straightened his clothes, and then headed to his lab.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Black smoke rose from another ruined cauldron. Snape sat back breathing the scent of his failure and mentally retraced his steps to determine where he'd erred.

 _Cricket wings, maybe…clockwise…_

He wiped crust from his eyes and cleared his irritated throat. Sleep was a distant memory and would soon become a myth. For weeks on end, from dawn to dusk, he had been laboring over his task, researching at all hours, making notes, and drawing tentative formulae. Then testing and retesting. Rethinking. Scrapping. Redoing. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, he would remember why he was doing this. What he'd done. What he'd have to do again.

He vanished the mess and crossed another iteration out of a pile of notes scattered in organized chaos on a side table. Then he began gathering ingredients anew.

He rubbed his haggard face and started gutting a bowl of ginger newts.

Granger's words at the meeting still haunted him. He had threatened her, hadn't he? Scared her. He'd never explicitly said that she could leave. He should've made it clear. Should've made sure she understood it was her choice. He would never force…would he? Had he?

"Shit…"

He stared dumbly at his hands and the blood suddenly oozing from somewhere on them onto his ingredients. He turned them over, searching for the injury. So deep in occlumency, he hadn't felt the knife slip. He surfaced until the wound identified itself, sighing with relief as the sting amplified. Pain brought clarity. It pushed away the wicked thoughts, the voices plaguing him, like a scream drowning out all other noise.

A healing spell was on his lips, but he delayed a while longer. The newts were ruined already anyway. If he could bottle this feeling, put it in a salve and spread it all over himself…

A pressure cauldron screamed. He banished the mess and healed himself then attended the brew.

…

"You've lost weight," said Madam Pomfrey, frowning at Snape's bare chest.

Snape grunted something in the way of acknowledgement and gestured for her to get on with it.

The matron twirled her wand over him in elaborate fashion, and a parchment popped into existence by Snape's head. She plucked it from the air and gasped as she read it.

"What have you done, Severus?"

Snape heaved a sigh of relief. "What was necessary."

Pomfrey shook her head wildly. "Surely there were ways less drastic."

"It was the safest option." He grasped his collar and began to button his shirt.

"Assuredly not," said Pomfrey. "Even a yearly dose would've been better. _Ten_ years, Severus?" She waved the parchment in his face.

He pushed her hand aside. "I would not want a child in a hundred anyway."

"That's not my point. Do you have any idea what this will do to your hormone balance?"

"I don't care."

She stomped her foot. "You _will_ take the reversal potion at once."

"No."

"I see no reason you could not take a prophylactic as needed. Miss Granger herself could—"

"Such methods are highly vulnerable to human error. Just one lapse is all it would take. Suppose through my carelessness she became…" He couldn't bring himself to say it. Just the thought of Granger's belly swollen with his child made him ill. He'd do anything to avoid that. "Anyway, it is done, and you will not convince me to alter it." He stood up from the bed and buttoned his shirt. "Please show the records to Miss Granger if she expresses any concerns."

Pomfrey crushed the parchment and stalked off with it in her fist then came back shortly with a glass of ugly-colored nutritive potion. It would not make much difference, but Snape humored her and drank it.

She took the empty glass and gave him a sad look.

"I don't deserve your pity," he said.

"Oh, Severus." She reached out to touch his face, and he jerked away wide-eyed.

"Good day, Madam." He nodded sharply and, in a few long strides, left the room.

…

In the hall, he was met by a rippling sea of heads and robes as students traveled between classes. He scowled at one who passed by too close and another who had the gall to look his way. He heard their whispers, their gossip about his sudden resignation, and felt exposed. They couldn't possibly know why, but he felt the shame etched into his face. Childhood memories of pain and humiliation bubbled up from his mind's murky depths. He'd be damned if he went through that again.

Someone laughed. He whipped around to take house points, but caught himself before he looked the fool. The joke wasn't on him anyway, but on a girl sporting buckteeth and rabbit ears. For some reason, she reminded him of Granger. He waved his wand and returned her features to normal then hurried down the stairs the dungeons.

His eyelids grew heavy at the bottom, and the hall started to sway. As he reached his door, head drooping and falling over, he realized his mistake. Poppy had slipped him a sleeping draught. How ironic. He would've noticed had he not been so exhausted.

He dragged himself inside, sighing in defeat. There was so much more to brew and prepare, but it would have to wait.

For the first time in ages, he bypassed his lab and entered the room opposite, stumbling toward the pile of sheets on the floor where a bed had once been.

…

He was running. A creature on all fours. Chasing. Caught her in his maw and tore. Ripped. Clothes and meat.

He screamed himself awake, spitting dream blood and flesh from his beastly teeth. He could still taste her, feel her bones breaking between his jaws, hear her screaming.

He retched and lay his face against the cool stone floor, groaning and digging his fist into his gut as the terror of the dream gave way to a waking nightmare.

 _God, no._

He was painfully hard. Again. He didn't know why it kept happening. His body was suddenly revolting against him. He carefully pushed his waistband off his hips, wincing from the slightest friction against his turgid appendage, and gingerly touched himself. He was tight like a shaken coke bottle. He hissed through bared teeth and tried to ease the pressure.

His hand felt like a sandpaper glove. He thumped his head onto the floor and slowly dragged—

"Aah!"

He took his hand away and rubbed his face. The last time, it took hours to resolve on its own. Nothing he did helped, and everything he tried was pure torture. Not to mention the visions he kept having of the girl pinned under him, screaming and writhing as he—

"Stop it. Stop, dammit," he sobbed.

He rolled over onto his back, panicked eyes darting around in the darkness, and tried to think of something dull. Nail fungus. Boil cream. First-year potions essays. A teardrop carved a line through his sweat. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Buck up, Snivellus, you fucking pussy."

…

The scythe was hot to sear as it cut. The sharp edge nicked his skin, and a red droplet splattered between his knees onto the white bathtub. He breathed slowly through his pounding heartbeat while staring at a point ahead, then jerked the blade up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Harry couldn't believe it. No one could. When he walked into the next Defense class, at the front of the room stood a frazzled looking woman with frizzy hair and gigantic glasses, her tilted posture swaying from her lack of sobriety.

"Bloody hell," said Ron beside him. "What the hell is _she_ doing here?"

Harry cringed. "Don't tell me she's…"

"To defend against the dark arts,"—Professor Trelawney leaned on the desk of a student in the first row and then flung an accusatory finger out at the rest of the class—"you must first predict when they will strike."

…

"I can't believe that just happened," Ron said as they walked out of the room. "They must've been desperate."

"Well they didn't have much time to replace him," said Harry.

Hermione beside him hugged her books and walked in silence.

"Seriously?" said Ron. "Anyone else would've been better. Even Filch. Filch's _cat_ for Merlin's sake."

Harry nodded, though he couldn't really judge how the class had gone. He'd spent the whole time having flashbacks of the war. They were getting intrusive now. He'd be in the middle of something and then he'd be in the forest again, on his back with slivers of sunlight piercing through the trees, then in a room somewhere, dark and cold, with no light except gleaming red eyes. Then blood. Screams. His friends crying over him like he was going to die.

"I just hope we'll be ready for exams," he mumbled.

Ron laughed. "We've _been_ ready, mate. We put Voldemort in his grave. Besides, you're a shoe-in for the aurors. Who's gonna turn down an application from the Boy-Who-Lived?"

Harry rubbed his forehead and Hermione caught his eye. He'd only told her about the horcrux. He'd meant to hide it from both of them, but it had slipped out early on when he was still reeling from the knowledge that he was Voldemort's doorway back to life.

"You'll do fine on the practical, Harry," she said. "But you ought to focus more on theory. I'll copy my notes for you later."

"Thanks."

She split off from them for the next period with a promise to meet them for lunch. He hoped she would. He hadn't seen her eat a meal since this wretched business began. He'd call her on it, but then he'd be a hypocrite.

Ron watched her go with a grim look on his face. Under his breath, he said, "It's not bloody fair."

He sounded angry, but Harry saw moisture pooling in his eyes. He guessed they each had their way of coping. Hermione buried herself in classwork and Head Girl duties, Ron turned his sadness into anger, and Harry… Well, he wasn't sure what he was doing. He was afraid to feel or express anything since learning what he was.

It had been him, Dumbledore, and Snape in Dumbledore's office. He and Dumbledore were sitting at his desk while Snape leaned against a wall with his arms crossed, his right hand wrapped in a bandage.

"The soul fragment's influence on you will be greater now that your scar is the last remaining horcrux," Dumbledore had said. "It may affect your thoughts, emotions, behaviors. You will have to be especially mindful of this."

"So I'll…have mood swings or something? Act differently?" Harry said.

Dumbledore hesitated.

"Tell him the truth, Headmaster," Snape hissed from the periphery. "After 16 years, it's the least you can do."

It was weird to have Snape back him up, but Harry agreed.

Dumbledore regarded him gravely. "I don't want to deceive you, Harry. But for your sake, it might be better left unsaid."

Harry clenched his fists, partly in frustration, partly in fear. "It's my head, Professor Dumbledore. My life. So just tell me."

Harry braced himself. When Dumbledore still remained silent, he guessed what he wasn't being told. "You don't just mean mood swings, do you. You're saying the horcrux will possess me."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not just possess you, Harry, I'm afraid…" The elder's blue eyes looked somberly into his and his next words fell to a whisper. "There is a chance, however small, that the soul fragment will awaken, and Tom will be reborn within you."

Right then, a switch flipped in Harry's brain. A presence that wasn't there before started to be. He dropped his head into his hands. _You were right_ , he thought. _I shouldn't have asked._

"And how will you keep the boy from becoming the next Dark Lord?" Snape grumbled.

"There will be occasions when the darkness within the horcrux becomes too much for Harry to bear. He will need the external aid of someone proficient at mental arts—"

"Do not expect my help!"

Silence hung in the air. For a moment, Harry thought he'd be forced into occlumency again, but then Dumbledore said, "As it is no longer crucial that I hide my thoughts from Voldemort, I am free to offer myself. Hogwarts is open to you, Harry. At any time, should you feel overwhelmed, come to me and I will help you ease your mind."

He'd been uneasy ever since.

…

In his lab at some unknown hour, Severus burned another owl from Dumbledore and returned to his notes.

A green light flared behind him.

"I would rather you read them beforehand."

Snape whipped around and scowled at the wizard in question as he crawled out of a tiny hearth. "My bloody delivery floo?"

Dumbledore stood up brushing soot off his robes. "You were avoiding me."

Snape gritted his teeth. "I can't deal with this right now, Albus. I've got my own problems to manage." He turned back to his notebook and stared at the open page, trying to resume his last train of thought. His mind was filled with fog and noise. He dipped his quill in ink and hovered the tip over a blank space, squinting as the words he'd just written twisted into gibberish. His hand was shaking. Trying to make it stop made it worse. The quill twitched like a dying bird and splattered ink onto the page.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

He put down the quill and turned around to face the headmaster.

"I do understand, Severus," said Dumbledore. "I will not burden you any more than I must. But know that you will be pivotal to ending Voldemort for good."

Snape stared into the wizened eyes, forcing all his feelings behind a wall. "Why do you think so?"

"Because of that mark you bear."

He self-consciously gripped his left arm where Voldemort's magic tainted his skin. "You think you can defeat him with his own tool?"

"I'm investigating the possibility."

Snape sighed of longsuffering and turned back to his notes. "Well good luck with that. If you don't mind, I'm going to wallow in self-pity now."

Rather than go the way he'd come, Dumbledore headed up the stairs. At the top, he turned to look down at Snape. "You are not merely a tool to me, Severus. You do know this."

Snape picked up the quill again. "Whatever."

…

The smell of dusty leather and parchment mingled with the scent of whit-sharpening candles that surged in popularity this time of year. Library traffic also surged as exams approached, with OWL-takers allowed an extra hour past curfew and NEWT-takers an extra two. The casual studiers had long ago headed to their beds, leaving behind the more dedicated, but now, even the most ambitious were trickling back to their dorms. A pair of Ravenclaws packed their things and headed for the exit, whispering idly between stifled yawns.

"I wonder why Snape stopped teaching all of a sudden."

"Dumbledore finally realized he's a git."

"It's too bad. I actually liked him teaching Defense."

A vicious growl sent the pair running off shrieking until Madam Pince restored the peace with an earsplitting shush.

On a lone table practically buried in books and parchments and surrounded by half a dozen nearly-spent candles, a frazzled bushy head with snarling lips ducked back over an arithmancy textbook, bloodshot eyes scanning the same line over and over until they stilled.

Hermione slammed the book shut and cursed under her breath. Why'd they have to say that stupid name? She couldn't read another word now with it hissing in her head.

She shoved the book aside and leaned back in her seat, staring at the piles of study aids she'd been poring over all day. Why was she even still doing this? It wasn't like NEWTs had a point anymore. Even with straight Os, she'd never amount to more than Snape's bedwarmer.

But studying was normal. It was what everyone expected her to do. Heads would turn if the Gryffindor swot weren't nose-deep in books freaking out about a bunch of tests that didn't matter, especially since for once they mattered to everyone else. She'd been keeping up appearances to ward off prying eyes, but truly, she wasn't distracting others as much as herself. As long as she had something to think about and figure out, she wouldn't have to deal with the dread whispering in the back of her head.

She sat up to continue reading and felt a needle stab between her shoulders. Her eyes bugged out and an ice chill settled on her skin.

 _No!_ She gripped the edge of the desk and anchored herself to the seat. She wouldn't go. She wouldn't do it.

Her stomach churned and her throat clenched. If she didn't go, would Snape come after her? Would he drag her to his quarters? Would he do it here in the open? She opened her mouth and forced her panicked lungs to inflate as she waited in petrified horror for the dungeon bat to come and snatch her away.

Then the pain faded, and she realized it was just a muscle spasm.

She dropped her head into her hands and rocked herself back and forth. Another false alarm. She couldn't take much more of this. She was so tired of dreading, she almost wished it would happen already so she could stop. But that wouldn't end it. It wouldn't be just once, or twice. It would happen again and again, forever, until she died.

She looked up again, seething at the mounds of melted candle wax, dogeared textbooks, and chewed up quills, then with a flick of her wand, sent them all flying back into her schoolbag.

The bare desk stared back at her in mockery. This was her life now, this bleak, emptiness with no plans or dreams, nothing to prepare for or look forward to but being used and scarred and burdened until she had no use left.

She shouldered her bag and made her way to the door, stomping past Pince, who raised an eyebrow at the clock as though it must be wrong.

As she stepped out into the torchlit corridor, a small brown owl swooped down from a vacant sconce, dropped a scrap of parchment on her head, then flew away with an impatient hoot. She pulled the scrap out of her hair and read it. Her stomach fell. There was no addressee or signature, but there was no mistaking the owner of the cramped, spidery scrawl.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Ron was scowling at everything like he would raise his leg and piss on it. "I thought we were going to your office." He scowled at the back of Snape's head.

"If you'll recall, Mr. Weasley, I am no longer a professor at Hogwarts, and therefore have no office. My private laboratory is in my quarters."

Ron turned his head to Hermione but kept his eyes on Snape. "This where you shagged him?"

Hermione ignored him.

Snape tapped out a sequence on a wall with his wand and a door appeared, then he tapped another sequence to open it. "This way," he said, gesturing to the doorway. Beyond was a flight of stairs to a floor below.

Hermione moved to enter.

Ron grabbed her arm and glared at Snape. "Hell no. We don't know what's down there. Whatever it is you want her to test, you bring it up here where it's well lit."

Snape looked down his nose at Ron then descended the stairs alone.

While Snape was gone, Ron looked around his living room. He slid a finger along one of the bookshelves. "Dusty," he said with a sneer. "Bet he doesn't even read these books. They're just for show to impress his visitors." He scoffed. "Who am I kidding? Like he even gets visitors. Who would want to come see Snape?" He grinned at Hermione, who didn't return the look. "Maybe Dumbledore comes down here to tell him off," he said. He poked a weird-looking sculpture of bulbs attached to cylinders. "I bet he's had Death Eater orgies in here right under Dumbledore's nose. I can't believe that git got his claws so deep in the Order. Now look what it's gotten us. Look what he's done to you."

"Give it a rest, Ron. I don't want to talk about it," said Hermione.

"Yeah, you don't want to do a lot of things with me lately," he muttered. He went back to scrutinizing Snape's belongings, imagining their evil purposes. "So where'd you shag him? On the couch or the floor? Or up against this shelf?"

Hermione crossed her arms and glared at him. "Ronald, stop."

Ron stepped close to her, a menacing look in his eyes. "Whose idea was it to knock you out, Hermione? Are you sure you're not just pissed because you'd rather be awake?"

"Shut up!"

Snape returned with a small glass of magenta liquid, which he held out to Hermione.

Hermione reached out to take it, but Ron stepped between her and the glass. "Hold on. Give me that. I'll drink it."

Snape pulled back his arm. "It will not work predictably for you, Weasley. It is tailored to Miss Granger's physique."

"And you're the expert on that now, are you?"

Hermione pushed Ron aside. "Just give it to me."

Snape levitated the vial to Hermione. She snatched it from the air and drank it. Then she stared ahead with her arms crossed while tapping her feet.

"Nothing's happening," said Ron after a while.

Hermione huffed. "It's on a dela—"

Both Ron and Snape rushed to catch her, but Ron got to her first and glared Snape back. "Get your filthy paws away from her."

Snape backed off and cast a timer spell. Gold numbers appeared in the air by his head, marking the seconds.

Ron scrunched his brows at them. "Yeah, gotta make sure she doesn't wake up in the middle and spoil your fun."

Snape turned away and faced the floating numbers.

Seconds passed. Hermione didn't budge. Ron grew sicker every moment she remained unconscious. He imagined her naked in Snape's bed, the bloody git on top of her, having his way. It wasn't fair. It should've been _him_. He ran his eyes over her body and tried to see himself in Snape's place. It just wasn't right. After leaping all those hurdles, they'd finally gotten together, and now Snape's cock was in the way.

The bastard was looking at her. Ron gritted his teeth. He could feel the slimy fantasies oozing out of him.

"You like seeing her like this?" he snapped. "Can't run away screaming like any sensible woman would."

Git had the nerve to keep looking.

Ron held his gaze and slid a hand along Hermione's thigh. "Doubt you've been with many women, Snape," he said. "Bet she was your first." He brushed her hip and groped her waist. "Knocked her out so she wouldn't see how pathetic you are." He palmed her belly then inched toward her chest.

Snape looked away, his cheeks pink.

Ron snickered. "Well nothing's gonna spare you that reality, Snape. You _are_ pathetic. You're a spineless, disgusting, worthless insect, and your days are numbered. As soon as my brother breaks this bloody curse, I'm gonna track you down and kill you."

The timer clocked about a minute and then Hermione began to stir.

"Ron?" She sat up shaking her head.

"Easy, there. Are you alright?" Ron helped her stand up. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. What happened?"

"You drank whatever it was Snape gave you."

She looked confused for a moment then scowled at Snape. "Did it work?"

Snape squinted into her eyes. "What do you recall?"

"Coming here and waking up." She crossed her arms. "Well?"

Snape looked away. "The timing requires adjustment. I will refine it to meet your previous specifications."

"See that you do." She stormed out of the room.

Ron followed her into the hall and grabbed her arm to slow her down. "What was that about, Hermione? Why does that potion have a delay, and what specifications was Snape talking about?"

"Stop grabbing me." She wrenched her arm away. "I told him to make a potion that would let me fight him off instead of just—"

"What do you mean fight him off?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. I may not have a choice in the outcome, but I won't come to it willingly."

He squinted at her. "Sounds like foreplay."

"And you sound jealous."

"Well, what if I am? A slimy bloke twice my age gets to shag my girlfriend, and she won't even let me touch her."

Hermione rolled her eyes and stalked away.

…

Something was…burning. Snape snapped alert and spun around, eyes darting over the ruins that had moments ago been his lab. Shelves wrecked. Cauldrons knocked over spilling days of labor. Broken glass and liquid splattered everywhere. Parts of the floor smoldering where volatile reagents mixed.

He gaped at the destruction, heart thudding in his chest. He'd done it again. He couldn't remember, but he must have. His mind pulsated with unnatural vacancy. He'd been working on something…Granger's potion, and then…a way to…break the curse… _Dammit. What was it?_

He rubbed his face with his hands and saw black stains all over them. He scanned the chaos for his notebook. If he'd had a breakthrough, he'd have written…

There on the center table was what used to be his notebook, now a shredded heap of parchment in a puddle of ink. Beside it, a black finger drawing of a face with sharp, grinning teeth.

Goosebumps rippled up his arms and legs. He staggered backward, hugging himself, eyes fixed on the teeth. Then with a trembling hand he raised his wand toward the mess and vanished it.

…

Tears were expected, so no one questioned Hermione's as they leaked from her eyes and streaked down her cheeks. The upward curve at the corners of her mouth was enough to let her blend in among the hundred other laugh-crying faces around her.

Dumbledore's voice echoed warmly through the Great Hall as he spoke the final words of the closing speech.

"Congratulations, everyone! Best wishes to you all on this new adventure."

The graduates cheered and thrust their wands in the air, spraying streamers and confetti with their house colors. Professor Flitwick conjured a flock of doves with ribbons tied to their feet, and the ceiling turned pure white as they made a flowing trail. Hermione smiled bittersweetly. This was the end.

The crowd of witches and wizards in black robes and pointy hats poured out of the Great Hall through a tunnel of clapping professors and made their way to the boathouse.

Shoulders pinched and still holding that upward curve, Hermione walked with her classmates. As they looked around fondly and talked of what they'd miss, she stared ahead and kept silent, marching to the gallows.

The water shimmered black and gold from lantern light and the moon overhead. Dozens of boats lined the boathouse dock. One by one, they filled up with pairs. Harry and Ron got in one together and drifted off toward the other shore without a glance back. Hermione stayed a moment watching them depart.

She understood the symbolism. Crossing the lake in reverse of their arrival represented their passage into adulthood and the real world. But many of them already knew more than they should about the real world, and some would never get to complete the journey.

Hermione counted herself among the dead, a casualty of the war who no one knew to mourn. As others moved on with their lives, she would remain in a time capsule, repeating her nightmares.

She stood another minute watching her friends make their way to their future, their freedom. Then she turned around and headed back into the castle. She'd prepared excuses for why she wouldn't be joining them—seasickness, fear of drowning—but no one asked where she was going. No one noticed her slip away.

The dungeon steps swirled dizzyingly as she descended. The dark hallway at the bottom seemed endlessly long. She wouldn't run, she told herself. She'd never run for this, no matter how much it hurt.

She walked quickly, stumbling as her legs lost coordination. With each step, the pinch grew more painful, the twinge more shocking in her spine. The nausea was almost crippling, but she urged herself forward, bracing herself against the wall until she reached that dreadful door.

She fell to all fours in front of it, choking back sobs as she was reduced to crawling. There was no more hoping this was just a bad dream.

She dragged herself forward, painful shudders rippling through her. It wasn't fair. She'd done everything she should've done. She didn't deserve this. She looked back down the hall to where she'd come from and thought of her friends drifting away, starting their new lives while she began this death. Her chest swelled with jealousy and hatred. She hurled it at the door. If she was going to do this, she would do it with the same vigor she did everything. She would be tough, confident, strong. She would not be broken.

She thought of every injustice Snape had ever done to her, every harsh word he'd ever said, and worked herself into a rage. Then she pushed herself to her feet, stepped forward, and banged a fist on the door. It swung open like the jaws of a beast. Her heart thudded as she peered into the space. It was pure darkness. She squeezed her hands at her sides and waited for herself to calm. Nothing would force her to enter. Not pain, nor fear of death. She would move of her own free will. She breathed in and out, waiting until she was ready, and then she stepped through.

And then she came out again.

She gaped up and down the corridor then spun around to face the door again. It was closed. She reached out to knock, but then stopped. There was no shock jolting through her spine, no twitching in her limbs. The pain was gone.

" _Tempus_."

The time-telling spell revealed twenty minutes had passed.

 _So, just like that…_

She looked at her hands and inspected her clothes. There was nothing. No sign of what she'd just endured. Had she even endured anything?

 _Twenty minutes._

She wrapped her arms around her chest and fought the queasy panic that threatened to envelope her. She'd thought she would be glad not to remember anything, but knowing nothing at all was so much worse. Twenty minutes of her life were gone, and only Snape knew where.

The hallway swayed, and she collapsed against the wall. _What have I done?_

She hadn't thought it through. Without her memories, she wouldn't know if Snape had kept his word. She'd never know. He could do anything to her.

What had she done indeed?

"What I had to," she said with more confidence than she felt. She pushed off the wall and headed for the prefect's bath to scrub herself clean, repeating the words until she had convinced herself.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The castle slept in summer, even in the day. As she walked through the halls, Hermione noted how quiet it was. Too quiet. It made her thoughts too loud, gloomy thoughts about what her life had become, her days spent wasting away in her quarters, running back and forth from Snape's, or owling letters to her parents about her made-up internship. Brilliant fate for the "brightest witch of her age." If she had known it would turn out like this, she might've tried living a bit more.

She pushed open the door to the Hospital Wing and sat on a cot by a window. It was so bright outside. The sunlight made everything colorful and lively. She wondered if the wind blowing the trees was cool or warm.

Light footsteps approached at an easy pace. She turned to see Madam Pomfrey walking toward her with a look of soft concern, her wand already poised to perform whatever healing she might need.

"What's the matter, Hermione? Your message was so urgent."

Hermione pulled a pillow onto her lap and hugged it as she gave the reason for her visit.

When she finished, the matron patted her shoulder. "You've nothing to worry about, dear, but let's put your mind at ease."

She set the pillow aside then sat still as Madam Pomfrey swirled her wand around her protruding belly, praying and hoping and pleading with the universe.

A parchment popped out of the tip, and the matron handed it to her without reading it.

Hermione held the parchment in her shaking hands and mustered the courage to look. She held her breath as she went down the list of findings—sleep deprivation, vitamin deficiency, dehydration—until she found what she was looking for. Uterus: _Nongravid_.

She sighed with relief and put the parchment on the bed.

Madam Pomfrey handed her a nutrient potion, and she drank it like a chocolate shake.

"Just a bit of weight gain, dear," said the matron. "Caused by stress, I imagine. Perhaps you need a new exercise routine. One that doesn't involve midnight trips to the kitchens." She raised a knowing eyebrow.

Hermione blushed. "I guess I've been stress eating. There's just not much else I can do."

Madam Pomfrey tilted her head in mild admonishment. "Hermione. You might be stuck on the grounds, but you're not trapped inside the castle. I know you've spent all summer cooped up in your rooms. Try getting some fresh air. Some sunlight. It will do you good. An hour a day outside. That's my prescription."

"Alright." Hermione thanked her and started to leave but hesitated by the door. She turned back and forced out the words, "Maybe I should start some sort of birth-control."

Madam Pomfrey pressed her lips together, contemplating something, then flicked her wand toward her filing cabinets. A drawer opened, and a crumpled ball came flying out of it toward her. She handed it to Hermione. "He asked me to show you this if you had concerns."

Hermione uncrushed the parchment and saw Snape's name at the top. She felt gross touching anything that belonged to him, but she read through the parchment and took in all the details of his medical history. It was pretty pathetic.

He was underweight, apparently. Had insomnia. Acid reflux. Gingivitis. Eew. He was constipated. Anemic. She skimmed the rest, looking for something that popped out. There, near the bottom.

Active Substances: _Castratus decennium_

"Oh." She stared at the words, unwilling to take them at face value. It was possible the scan was manipulated, or that he took a counterpotion afterward.

"I have a stack of other parchments that say the same," said Pomfrey. "He comes for a check-up scan every so often. As though a potion like that could undo itself."

Hermione suddenly felt stupid. Of course he'd make sure she couldn't get pregnant. That would wreck his life as much as hers. He couldn't properly play with his toy if she was carrying his child. She scowled at the disgusting thought.

"I see. Thanks for clarifying." She handed the parchment back to Pomfrey and turned to go back to her—

"Outside, Hermione. Fresh air and sunlight."

…

The breeze was warm. The grass felt like a spongy carpet beneath her soles. Hermione wiggled her toes and dug them into the softness, examining the sensation. She'd never actually done this before. Walking barefoot outside was something others did while she warned them of the dangers of warts and nail fungus. She snickered at herself. She shouldn't have cared so much about everything. Everything that used to matter was meaningless now. When summer first started and everybody had gone, she'd thought her NEWT scores would cheer her up, but when she got her letter and saw straight Os down the list, she burst out crying. She'd let go of everything since then. Let herself waste away and get into this funk. She pinched a hunk of fat on her arm. Madam Pomfrey was right. She needed to move, to breathe again.

She put her shoes back on and started to run. The wind rushed through her hair and the ground sent shocks up her feet and jarred her knees. Pain was good. It meant she was alive. She wasn't going to lie down and die again. A few seconds later, huff-puffing and favoring an ankle, she realized she should probably build up to sprinting. She walked at an easy pace toward the lake and put her feet into the cool, refreshing water, giggling as the squid tickled her soles. If she pretended she could come and go as she pleased, it might actually be nice here.

She continued her walk around the grounds, observing the changes that had happened since no one was around. The gardens were overrun with weeds and pests. Plenty for the Herbology classes to sort out when term started in a few days. The quidditch pitch was immaculate though, probably charmed to always meet regulations. She stopped at the winged boars gate and extended a hand toward it. There wasn't a barrier, per say, but something kept her from putting even a finger through the bars. A visceral fear like she was stepping off a cliff. It was the same at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and the passage to Honeydukes, probably at all the boundaries that surrounded Hogwarts. The walls demarking her invisible cage.

She retracted her hand and headed back toward the castle. The trip outside had done her good, but she needed more than sunlight and fresh air. She needed freedom.

…

The sight of boats and lanterns floating across the Black Lake was breathtaking. Hermione watched from her bedroom window as the first-years rowed toward the castle like a small army of invaders. Summer was officially over.

At the Welcoming Feast, Professor Dumbledore introduced her as a teacher's aid, and she sat at the head table between Professors McGonagall and Sinistra. It was strange sitting there applauding the newly sorted first-years, when just a few months ago, she'd been on the other side receiving applause. The students looked so small and innocent, like she must have at that age. She hoped, now that the war was over, that they would be able to keep that wide-eyed look of wonder longer than she had.

Afterward, she met up with Ginny and Luna, the new Head Girl, to everyone's surprise, and invited them to her quarters for a chat.

"I figured you'd go into politics, not education," said Ginny sipping pumpkin juice on one side of the sofa.

On the other side, Hermione shrugged. "Sometime in the future, maybe. Right now, I'm interested in investigating muggleborn adaptation to wizarding society. I'm thinking of writing a book on it. Maybe a muggle studies textbook." The lies were so convincing, she believed them herself.

Luna, sitting cross-legged on the ottoman while dangling a feather over Crookshanks, tilted her head while a look of whimsy came over her. "I've noticed the wrackspurts crowd the first-years in September," she said. "Do you think it's because their thoughts are tastier?"

"Something to investigate," said Hermione chuckling. It was the first she'd laughed in months. In the company of her friends, feeling her stress melt away, she could imagine that everything would someday be alright.

Over the next few weeks, she settled into a routine of monitoring study halls and guiding lost first-years to class. It wasn't much work, but it was better than staring at her bedroom walls while Crookshanks walked across her stomach with disdain. Plus, she was getting paid. It was enough to make her feel not completely useless.

She really enjoyed teaching students her study tricks. Most of them were lazy and just wanted shortcuts, but after dragging Ron and Harry through their schoolwork for seven years, tutoring was a breeze.

She aimed her wand at a quill and demonstrated the "swish and flick" for a student failing miserably at the levitation charm. "It's leviOHsa," she said. A fond memory wafted into her mind.

She missed Ron and Harry. They hadn't visited her all summer. Busy with auror training, their letters said, but no doubt the curse was part of the reason. Ever since they found out, things had gotten so awkward despite trying to pretend they weren't.

She was glad to have Ginny and Luna to give her a sense of normalcy.

"You have to come to tonight's DA meeting," Ginny pleaded as the study hall ended. "Since you've taken NEWTs, you can help us decide the training schedule. I can't believe they've kept that madwoman on."

Hermione laughed then winced as pain erupted in her spine. She breathed through it and tried mind over matter, but as usual her attempts to ignore it were to no avail. "I'll be there," she said, then quickly excused herself.

…

The main perk of having her own quarters was not having to share a bathroom. After a third lather and rinse, she stood still under the stream and let the water run over her, washing off the invisible taint. She'd thought the worst part was not remembering anything, but as more incidents occurred, she became aware of something worse. Her body clean and fresh. Clothes pristine. Hair immaculate. She blocked out a horrid mental image and scrubbed herself again.

After decontamination, she curled up in bed and stared at a wall until she fell asleep. Hours later, she woke to faint knocking and a cat butt in her face. With a gentle shove, she changed the back view for the front. The knocking resumed, and she recalled her promise to go to the DA meeting. The knocker was probably Ginny. She sighed into her pillow. She didn't want to go anymore, didn't want to move or exist. She'd just not answer and then apologize tomorrow. Say she got caught up with work. They'd understand…But no. She couldn't let the curse steal the little that was left of her life. "I should just suck it up and go, right, Crooks?" She scratched the cat behind his ears. He gave a yawn of approval then jumped off the bed. She shook the sleep out of her head and followed suit.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Surprise!"

Hermione's hands flew to her face. The Room of Requirement was decorated with a rainbow of balloons and streamers all around. A red and gold banner floating midair read _Happy Birthday, Hermione!_ Best of all, her two best friends were standing under it wearing party hats and goofy grins.

A rush of warmth flooded her cheeks and moisture stung her eyes. "Oh my gosh!" She ran to Ron and hugged him tight.

"Happy Birthday, 'Mione," he said and leaned down to kiss her lips.

She offered a cheek instead and then pulled back to hug Harry. "I'm so glad to see you two. I really wasn't expecting anything."

"Of course we had to celebrate," Harry said, giving her light squeeze. "It's not every day you turn 19 on the 19th."

Ron crossed his arms and turned annoyed eyes to his sister. "What took you guys so long?"

" _Somebody_ took forever to answer the door," Ginny said with her arms akimbo. "I thought she was buried under a pile of books in there. This gal never takes a break."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I was taking a nap."

Luna came up to her holding out a large cylinder wrapped in red paper like a giant sweet. "Here, Hermione. Have a cracker."

"Thanks, Luna." Hermione grabbed the ends and pulled.

CRACK!

With a blinding flash and a puff of smoke, her witch's robes transformed into an obnoxious purple princess gown with huge sequins all over the sleeves. The boys guffawed.

"This too, birthday girl." Ginny rushed forward with a tacky gold tiara and placed it on her head. "Now the look's complete."

Hermione fanned her skirt and did a spin. "Wow, this is just hideous. Thank you so much!"

"There's more." Ron scooped her waist then led her to a table laden with goodies surrounding a red and yellow tower of icing that looked like the leaning tower of Pisa. Four of seven tiers were labeled in gold icing: "Hapy Bornday Hermy Grangy."

Hermione chuckled at the clash of elegant handwriting and atrocious spelling.

"Dobby made it," said Harry smirking. "Don't worry. It tastes fantastic."

"I'm sure it does," Hermione said. Truly, it didn't matter if it tasted like dirt. This was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in ages. She'd been so caught up in her troubles, she hadn't even remembered it was her birthday. But they had. Her dearest friends. She was lucky to have them.

"Here's my contribution," said Ron. He reached over the table and picked up a tall brown bottle, turning it to show the label: _Ogden's Old Firewhiskey_.

…

The evening progressed and their bellies filled with sweets and liquor. The Room provided dance music, and the décor became a night club equipped with colored lights and a spinning disco ball dangling from the ceiling. Drunk Luna swore the lights dancing on the floor were slick-winged humdingers and chased them like a kneazle.

The music boomed and bounced, and the friends jumped and gyrated and laughed at each other's bad dance moves. Hermione relished the buzz of intoxication and its dulling effect on her memories. Like this, she could pretend everything was fine and that the last few months had never happened.

Ron took her hand and spun her, pink-faced and laughing, no sign of the simmering anger that had enveloped him before the summer. He looked at her fondly, and she grinned back at him, dazzled by the psychedelic colors streaking across his face. In that moment, she knew everything would be alright.

Then the mood changed, and the music slowed. The couples partnered up, holding each other close and swaying to the rhythm. Luna danced with the disco ball, eyes closed and arms open, copying its twirl. Harry and Ginny's swaying turned to snogging, and then a black curtain fell from the ceiling and partitioned them from the others.

Hermione looked up at Ron to gauge his reaction. He squinted at the curtain for a moment, but then turned back to her, red-faced and glassy-eyed, parted lips leaning forward. She held still and let it happen.

Ron's mouth mashed into hers, icing sweet and whiskey bitter, lazily pulling and sucking. She didn't want to touch or be touched, but she wouldn't say that. They hadn't seen each other, let alone kissed, in months. All summer, she'd been expecting his breakup message by owl, not a surprise birthday party and this expression of love. How could she have gotten him so wrong? She should've known better. Of course Ron made mistakes, but he always came around. She wouldn't ruin this with her messed up feelings.

She forced herself into it, mirroring Ron's movements to jog her memory of how this was done, and managed a semblance of reciprocation. Hands, check. Tongue, check. Occasional moan, check. It felt satisfactory. In the end, she convinced herself she was enjoying it.

"Mm…missed this," mumbled Ron, coming up for air. "Missed you."

"Same here," she said. "I thought you wanted to call it off."

He shook his head into her neck, grazing her skin with his teeth. "I don't want to give up on us, 'Mione. We just have to put in the work."

Hermione nodded. "You're right."

Ron returned his mouth to her neck and resumed the tickling bites, his hands sliding down her back to cup her bum. She relaxed into his caresses and her thoughts drifted to the future. Could they really have a life with this curse between them? _Yes_. For the first time, she wholeheartedly believed it. As long as they trusted each other. Talked things through. No more secrets or passive aggression. Just honesty and compassion. Whatever difficulties arose, they would overcome them together. But that trust had to start now.

"It happened again," she said. "Today."

The love bites stopped. Ron pulled away and cold rushed into the void between them. "You had to bloody say that _now_?"

She cringed. "I don't mean to ruin the mood. I just want to be open with you. I want us to be able to talk about this."

"Yeah. Well, I don't want to hear about you shagging other people. _We_ haven't even done it yet. Let's talk about _that_."

Hermione hugged her sequined arms to her chest.

Ron threw his hands up. "What do you even want me to say? You want me to ask how it went?"

"Never mind," said Hermione. "Forget I brought it up."

Ron laughed. "Can't forget Snape's just had his dick in you." He stalked off and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the snack table then sat with it on the floor in a corner.

Hermione looked away as he started drinking. Standing by herself among the disco lights flashing across the floor like stars, she felt lost in a void, like a rock floating aimlessly through space. She and Ron were universes apart. She finished the night alone on a giant cushion in the opposite corner, stuffing herself with cake.

At some point, the Head Girl stopped spinning and announced her suspicion that it was time to wrap up. Hermione's princesswear poofed back into robes, and the Room began to clean itself, vanishing the evidence of their activities and becoming a plain, drab space.

Harry and Ginny came out of their partition, each sporting a rosy glow.

"That was fun," said Luna, smiling crookedly. "Having friends is rather entertaining."

"Why'd we stop nooow?" whined Ginny, wobbling a bit as Harry held her up. "It's not even curfew."

"By the time you get to your dorm, it will be," said Harry. He threw his invisibility cloak over her and ushered her to Luna, who deftly took hold of a chunk of air.

"Don't worry, Harry," Luna said. "I'll make sure she gets back alright."

Anyone else would have looked conspicuous, but Hermione had a feeling no one would look twice at Luna Lovegood helping an invisible person down the hall.

She hugged Harry goodbye. "Thanks again, Harry. I had a really good time."

"I can see that," said Ginny, exposing an arm to point at her neck.

Harry guided the arm back under the cloak and made sure no other parts were sticking out.

Hermione rubbed her neck and turned to Ron, as he staggered toward them. "It was good seeing you," she said.

Ron didn't look at her, but she couldn't tell if that was deliberate or because he was drunk. He swayed and Harry rushed to support him.

"Merlin, mate. How much did you drink?"

Ron closed his eyes and curled into Harry, who accepted the drunken hug while patting his back.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "And I thought Ginny went overboard. Think it's a redhead thing or a Weasley thing?"

"What do you mean, overboard?" said Ginny, sticking her arm out again to gesticulate. "I barely had anything. 'M jus a lil tipsy."

Harry chuckled. "Happy Birthday, Hermione. I'm glad you had a good time."

"Me too. I really…missed you both. You should come by more often."

Harry smiled sheepishly, scratching his head. "Yeah. We should."

Ginny's disembodied voice spoke again. "Or _you_ could hang out at Hogsmeade with us on the weekend instead of cooping up with your books."

Hermione struggled a moment for an excuse, but Ron cut in.

"No. She's busy," he said, his tone void of feeling. "And so are we."

…

Hermione stretched her neck in front of her bathroom mirror as she prepared for bed. The skin below her ear was bruised in the shape of Ron's mouth. She ran a finger over it, remembering the touch of his lips and teeth, puzzling over the feelings it evoked. Then, she slathered a gob of healing balm on it and watched it fade away.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The best time to use the library was when no one else was there. That meant either late at night or early in the morning. So, despite her sleep deprivation and slight hangover, Hermione dragged herself out of bed around 5 a.m. and went to avail herself of the Restricted Section. Madam Pince wouldn't get there till 6, so she had an hour to explore the aisles and pick out whatever looked interesting without the pressure of eyes spying over her shoulder.

She stepped over the rope with her wand at the ready, in case a book decided she was a snack. There were tomes bound in skins of various species. Some wrapped in chains. Others so deep red they seemed to have been dipped in blood. Their appearances were intimidating, but their contents were worse.

A huge book shot toward her face, baring teeth instead of pages. She stunned it and hexed it with fire until it lay still. The grey leather binding had a wolf's open jaws carved into it. She levitated it in front of her face and used her wand to turn the pages. It was about werewolves. Apparently, the soul of one was trapped inside it. No wonder. It also had detailed diagrams of werewolf anatomy and descriptions of gruesome experiments, like collaring them in human form with different materials then seeing which decapitated them during the full moon.

So despicable, she thought. The trapped soul must hold a grudge. She read a caption under a sketch that looked more like a beastly man than a werewolf.

 _In lycanthropes that worship rather than abhor the full moon, the cyclical compulsion is obviated by willingness of non-contrived origin, either unifying soul and impetus or preceding impetus causing obsolescence._

"What does that even mean?"

She thought of taking the book, but then returned it to the shelf. Better to stick to ones that wouldn't try to eat her as she slept.

An hour and an armful later, she was ready to check out. She'd chosen two books on the soul, one on blood magic, and another on cursed scars. Hopefully, one of them could shed some light on Harry's horcrux issue. Her own problem might be hopeless, but she could still look into his.

As she neared the circulation desk, she heard Madam Pince speaking to someone—not screeching, so not a student. Ugh. It was too early for small talk. She hoped whoever it was wouldn't want to chat with her.

She rounded a corner and froze. There was Snape standing in front of the checkout desk with his hands clasped behind him, looking ever so thoroughly like a great, greasy bat. The sight of him made her skin ripple, the shock to her system quite like anaphylaxis. She had no memory of Snape beyond the day she had gone to his quarters to test that potion. Since then, he'd become more of an idea than a person. It so irked her to be suddenly faced with this reminder of his concrete existence.

And what the _hell_ were they saying?

"In my myriad years as a librarian, I have researched more risqué subjects than aphrodisiacs, Severus."

"It is not necessarily an aphrodisiac. I seek something that enhances sensitivity of male sexual organs and increases reactivi—"

Hermione slammed her books on the checkout desk. "I'd like to borrow these if I may, Madam Pince."

Snape backed away a yard, gazing at her in open-mouthed shock.

Madam Pince took up the books to sign them out. "Miss Granger, I must ask that you be more careful in your handling. Some of these books are as delicate as flowers."

"Yes, Madam." Hermione placed the books inside her bag then gave Snape a parting glare and left.

The hall was filled with students heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. Hermione headed upstream.

Before long, she heard Snape calling behind her.

"Miss Granger."

She kept walking.

"May I have a moment of your time, Miss Granger?"

"No!" She sidestepped a frozen first-year and picked up speed.

"Please. I simply wish to clarify what you might've overheard."

"You mean you want to cover your ass."

"I don't want you to have the wrong idea."

She whipped around to face him. "So, you're _weren't_ asking Madam Pince to help you find a way to increase your pleasure?"

Snape nearly crashed into her and backed up two steps. He was hideous up close. His pale face broke out in pink splotches and his slimy eyes avoided her. "That is not my purpose."

"What other _purpose_ could you have for _enhanced sensitivity_?"

Heads were turning toward them. Hermione didn't care, but Snape cast wary glances and lowered his voice.

"I assure you, it's not what you think. I—"

"Save it." She turned and resumed her flight.

"Wait—"

Snape's hand brushed her arm and she screamed like it was a cockroach.

Professor McGonagall appeared out of nowhere and placed herself between them, thrusting her wand in Snape's face. "Mr. Snape," she began, her eyes like darts. "I advise that any communication you require with Miss Granger be done through an intermediary. I gladly volunteer."

The pink splotches drained from Snape's face, leaving pasty off-white. He shifted awkwardly on his feet then about-faced and fled.

…

After assuring Professor McGonagall she was fine, Hermione decided not to skip breakfast. When she got to the Great Hall, Ginny and Luna were waiting for her by the door. Her heart dropped. They'd seen everything. She tried to play it off, but she ran out of lies and ended up breaking down in an empty classroom and spilling her guts.

"That's so awful," Ginny said, dripping tears.

Hermione was all cried out by now. "The internship's a front, of course. Professor Dumbledore just made up a post for me so I'd have an excuse to stay here."

"Do Ron and Harry know?" asked Luna.

Hermione nodded. "Snape told them." She explained her attempt to go to Hogsmeade and the fallout after that, including Ron's sound walloping of Snape.

Ginny cheered. "My brother's a good guy," she said, wiping her eyes. "A great catch."

"Yeah," said Hermione, biting her lip.

"It all makes sense now," Ginny added. "He was so moody all summer. Harry's been a bit off too."

"Is this why Professor Trelawney started teaching Defense?" asked Luna.

"Yeah. I wanted Snape fired, so…"

"You go, girl," said Ginny. "Show that creep who's boss. You know, if I were you, I'd make myself absolutely filthy. No showers, no laundry, and I'd douse myself with the foulest smell I could conjure."

Hermione laughed at first, but her then the gloom enveloped her again. She regarded Ginny grimly. "The thing is, I think he…washes me or something." She shuddered and rubbed her arms.

"What do you mean _washes_ you?"

"I mean right after, every time, I'm already…clean, like, like he gave me a bath or something. Even my breath tastes fresh."

Ginny full-body shuddered. "That's got to be the sickest thing I've ever heard." She covered her mouth and jerked like she might actually vomit. "Imagine him lathering you up and bathing you. Euk!"

"I'd rather not," said Hermione. "My only consolation is not remembering any of it. That has its own drawbacks, though."

Luna patted her shoulder, apparently too stunned to speak.

Hermione gave a crooked smile. "I'm sorry to dump this on you two. You didn't need to hear all that." A bell chimed twice. "And now I've made you late for class."

"Don't be silly," said Luna. "You're much more important."

"Right," said Ginny. "Besides, Trelawney's probably drunker than we were last night."

Hermione got to her feet. "Come on, I'll walk you to class. Maybe she won't take house points if I ask for a palm-reading."

They walked together to the Defense classroom. Hermione felt lighter, having come clean about what was going on with her. It would be simpler not having to lie anymore to keep the curse secret, especially since she might have to run off in the middle of a conversation. Still, a part of her was disappointed that she'd lost this untouched part of her life. She didn't think Ginny and Luna would judge her, but they would never treat her the same again. Now, there would always be a touch of sadness in their voices and pity in their eyes.

…

Hermione opened the classroom door and peeked inside. The desks were cleared away, and the students were standing in a circle casting spells toward the middle. Donning a look of distress, she turned back to Ginny and Luna in the hallway and beckoned them to enter.

"Sorry for the delay, Professor Trelawney. I saw the Grim in a toilet bowl…"

Laughter erupted from the circle, warm and hearty, and very unlike the charlatan's. "I hope you flushed it properly."

Ginny gasped and ran ahead.

Hermione spun around to look then smiled from ear to ear. In the middle of the circle, someone crouched on the floor was slowly getting up. Not the owl-eyed, drunken quack, but a tall young man with a fang earring and a long, red ponytail.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"Bill!" Ginny barreled into her brother's chest.

Bill gave her a squeeze. "That's Professor Weasley, you delinquent."

"What are you doing here?" She pulled back, frowning at him.

Bill gestured to the circle of students. "I was _attempting_ to teach a lesson in defense."

"Wait. Professor…. _You're_ our defense teacher? This is bloody fantastic! Why didn't you say you were coming?"

Hermione smiled as the siblings enthusiastically greeted each other. She couldn't help sharing Ginny's joy at seeing her eldest brother. Bill was warm and bright, and his laughter was contagious.

"Didn't know till I got here. Just finished the job this morning." Bill looked at Hermione over Ginny's shoulder and gave her a nod. "Hi, Hermione."

Hermione's smile faltered and her stomach twisted in knots. Now it dawned on her why Bill was really here. "Hi, Bill," she said, propping the smile back up and hoping no one had seen the lapse.

Luna patted her shoulder then wandered forward to join he circle of her classmates.

"Miss Lovegood, good to see you," said Bill.

"Likewise, Professor," Luna answered dreamily.

Hermione started to excuse herself, but Ginny arrested Bill's attention again.

"You're so _pale_ ," she said, poking his arms under his rolled-up sleeves.

"Hard to tan underground," said Bill. He laughed a warm booming laugh, and a speck of silver glinted between his teeth.

Ginny grabbed his face and peered into his mouth. "Oh my god. Did you pierce your tongue? Mum's gonna flip."

Bill shooed her into the circle. "Alright, Miss Weasley. Enough distractions. Let's get to it."

He invited Hermione to stay, so she also joined the circle and got out her wand.

"I was demonstrating the effectiveness of defensive runes," he said, then crouched again and turned his wand downward.

A stream of liquidy silver magic poured from the tip, and he used it to draw various symbols on the stone floor. When he was done, he was standing within three arcs of a circle connected by three equidistant runes. Hermione translated them roughly as _defend present within_. They pulsed a faint white light then disappeared.

Bill spread his arms invitingly. "Now give it a go."

Everyone pointed their wands at him and fired. A column of light shot up from the floor like an inverted waterfall. Bill rippled within it. All sorts of offensive spells—knockback jinxes, boil curses, Ginny's bat bogey hex—crashed into the runic shield, but while the points of impact flared and crackled like mosquitoes in a bug zapper, Bill remained untouched.

Hermione gaped with wonder, temporarily forgetting her nervousness. She'd never seen such a display before. The setup looked rather simple, but the result was powerful.

Bill called for a ceasefire and the column of liquid light faded.

"Other defensive runic combinations can send curses back to the caster or absorb them up to a certain limit before returning a barrage of spells." He waved his wand downward and added other runes to the shield. Hermione glimpsed one meaning _mirror_ before they all flashed and disappeared.

"Any volunteers?"

"I'll have a go," Hermione said.

Bill gestured his welcome. "Be my guest."

Stepping forward, Hermione thrust her wand beyond the invisible circle and poked Bill in the chest. " _Locomotor wibbly_ —Ah!"

The spell rebounded up her arm and smacked her in the chest, then her legs gave out, and she fell on her bum.

Laughter erupted around her, and she giggled at her flopping legs.

Bill crossed his arms while grinning down at her. "And that's why we scan our surroundings before trying offensive spells. Even _finite_ on a booby trap can lead to disaster." He cancelled the jelly-legs jinx and gave her a hand up. "Aren't you glad that's all you cast?"

"Definitely," said Hermione, brushing herself off. "Why didn't it work?"

Bill waved his wand toward the ground and cast a spell that made the runes visible again. "If you look closely, this one here"—he pointed to a rune near his right foot—"allows entry into the warded space, but this one"—he jabbed at the one beside it—"marks whatever enters as foreign. Even if you stepped entirely within the circle. Your spells couldn't hit me." He turned to the students. "Not too shabby, right?"

The rest of the class was equally informative and fun. Bill was a competent wizard and a great teacher. Hermione was a little jealous that she'd missed out on a good foundation, but here's to better things for the next generation.

"Alright, everyone. That's it for today. See you all next class."

The students dispersed with murmurs of praise and eagerness for the next lesson. Hermione was about to tuck her wand back up her sleeve when Bill tapped her shoulder. "Could you get the desks for me?"

"Uh, sure." She set about levitating the desks back into rows, and that nervous dreadful feeling once again fell over her.

Ginny hung back as well, gushing approval. "Looks like we won't be needing the DA this year. That was brilliant, _Professor_ Weasley."

"Thanks, Ginny." Bill mussed her hair then chinned at the door where her classmates were trickling out. "Now, off you go. No more playing hooky."

She crossed her arms in mock indignation. "What hooky? It was a legitimate emergency. Imagine my fright looking down after wiping and seeing an omen of death."

Luna glided over and looped an arm around Ginny's, gently pulling her away. "Come along, Ginny. I think they want to talk without us being here."

"Oh…" Ginny glanced from Bill to Hermione, her eyes slowly widening as Luna tugged her out of the room.

The door closed behind them. Bill locked it with a spell.

Hermione turned to him and put on a brave face, but the tension in her cheeks felt nothing like a smile, so she quit.

…

The room was still. All the excitement of the class had gone from the space and from the faces of the remaining pair. Bill and Hermione faced each other in pensive silence, tension slowly building as the ghoul in the attic moaned to be acknowledged.

Bill moved first, gesturing for Hermione to take a seat. As she sat on one of the chairs, he sat on the edge of a desk beside her and took in her appearance. A bit plumper than he remembered, eyes slightly red like she had recently cried, her face taut with a false smile she couldn't quite maintain. Troubled, but not sickly. No sign of self-harm. Better than he had hoped.

"Let me first say," he said, looking steadily into her eyes, "I know we don't know each other well, but you are family, and I will spare nothing to see you through this."

She bowed her head and released a shaky breath. "Thank you."

"It may be…awkward talking to me about certain things, but no matter what you tell me, I hold no judgement.

"Ok."

He waited for her to say more, but she only looked up at him with an expression of resignation.

"Useless question, but how are you holding up?"

She shrugged. "Every day's about the same. Just a persistent state of suck."

Bill grimaced with sympathy. When Dumbledore's patronus burst into his worksite and gave him that vague but terrible news, he nearly attempted transcontinental apparition.

"I'm sorry I couldn't some sooner. I would've dropped everything, but I was under contract. _Goblin_ contract."

"It's alright," she said. "I'm just glad you're here now." She wrapped her arms around her stomach. "Guess I'm nervous too."

Bill was also somewhat nervous. His specialty was cursed objects, not people. People required a more delicate approach than he was used to. He'd suggested a geas and stigma specialist to take the case instead, but Hermione had refused to involve strangers. In any case, the principles were the same, and he was sure of his skill. His nerves were likely from the problem being so close to home.

Hermione looked up at him warily. "So what happens now?"

Bill went through his mental checklist. "First, I'll need more information: interviews, scans, research. Then when I have a solid understanding of what we're dealing with, we can get cracking."

Hermione's brown eyes brightened with a spark of hope.

"How long do you think it will take?"

Bill hated that question, especially when the answer was unpleasant. "I can't give a proper estimate, but considering the spell's caster and how little we know about it, it may take several years."

The hopeful spark vanished. Hermione dropped her head in her hands and breathed deeply. "So that's it then. My life is over. I'm gonna be stuck here forever."

"No," said Bill. "I don't believe that. I'll never believe that."

She made a sound between a laugh and a cry. "Tell me honestly, Bill. What's the likelihood I'll ever get out of this?"

Bill slipped off the desk and crouched in front of her, taking her right hand as he looked up into her sad eyes. "The likelihood is irrelevant. I will never stop trying until I've exhausted every resource." He sandwiched her hand between his and whispered a breath of magic. "You have my vow."

Hermione squeezed his hand and closed her eyes, moisture glistening in the corners. His heart broke for her. Not just for the violation she had to suffer, but for her dreams and plans obstructed by Voldemort's last bit of evil. And to be bound to _Snape_ of all people. He shuddered at the thought of Ginny in her place and allowed himself a moment of selfish relief.

Hermione took back her hand and wiped her face. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be emotional."

"Don't worry about it." He smiled warmly up at her, hoping to transmit comfort.

"I just feel so stupid," she said, crinkling her nose as she sniffled. "I'm always solving other people's problems, but I can't get myself out of this."

"This isn't something your average person can handle," Bill said. "You were smart to ask for help."

"I wasn't going to," she said softly. "I wanted to fix it on my own without anyone else finding out." Her brows creased with a hint of shame. "Professor Dumbledore had to convince me."

"Don't blame yourself for that." said Bill. "No one wants to say they have a malediction. In so many cases, people suffer silently until they're overwhelmed. It's good you let yourself be convinced."

She seemed to process and accept his words.

He was about to say more, but then the doorknob clicked with the vain effort of turning.

"You should let them in," Hermione said, looking toward it.

Bill didn't move. "I'll cancel my classes if you prefer. Just say the word. Dumbledore knows you're my priority."

Hermione paused a moment then shook her head. "It's alright, but thank you, Bill. You make me think there might be a way out of this besides drowning myself in the lake."

A fleeting smile curled her lips. Bill found hard to reciprocate when he knew pain was so close beneath its surface.

They made plans to discuss things further at the end of the school day, then Bill walked Hermione to the door. As he reached for the knob, a thought occurred to him.

"Snape should be there too," he said with some apprehension. "Will that be alright?"

Hermione's jaw clenched and her hands curled to fists, but instead of the refusal Bill expected, she said, "I'll manage."

He squeezed encouragement into her shoulder. "Remember, I'm here for you. Whatever you need."

He gave her a moment to compose herself, secure the mask over her face again, then opened the door.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 _"Nagini…kill."_

 _Bloodlust surged through his veins. He saw the target. His prey._

 _He struck._

 _The sinews split between his fangs, and he pumped them full of death._

"Focus, Potter!"

Harry flipped over once then slammed onto the mat. The training hall ceiling swirled a few times before becoming stationary again. His ass throbbed from the impact, but the worse wound was to his pride. He tried not to let either show as he hoisted himself up and resumed his defensive stance opposite his training partner.

Malfoy couldn't have looked less pleased about knocking him on his ass. His brow formed a deep trench like Harry had insulted him. When Harry got his wand back up, though, the annoyance returned to concentration. Harry focused too, on his feet, his grip, the turn of Malfoy's wrist.

" _Expulso_!"

" _Protego_!" His wand arm stung from the impact on his shield.

" _Bombarda_! _Sagitto_! _Excorio_!"

Malfoy sprayed curses, and Harry scrambled to defend, blocking a volley of arrows then narrowly dodging a flaying curse.

They were supposed to be conditioning, honing skills, sharpening reflexes, but they were just cursing the shit out of each other. It felt good.

He'd been so keyed up lately. Last night had helped him take a load off, but it all came back this morning, first with the hangover, then Ron, now this gnawing inside his head. He sorely needed this release.

 _"Diffindo_! _"_

Malfoy mistimed his shield and caught the cutting spell on his left arm. A red line blossomed on his bicep then streaked like vines down his faded Dark Mark.

Harry dropped his guard to gloat and got cracked ribs in return. _Shit._ " _Caligo_! _Expelliarmus_!"

" _Protego_!"

" _Contundo_!"

A bead of sweat slipped between his lips, salty, metallic like blood. His jaws clenched. His glands spasmed, squeezing venom through his teeth to do his master's bidding.

The floor jumped up and smacked him in the face.

Malfoy hurled a string of expletives then came over to cuss him out up close. "A bloody _trip jinx_?!"

Harry got ready for a verbal spar but was surprised by Malfoy's hand stretched down to help him. He clasped it and gingerly pulled himself up.

Malfoy was squinting at him with eyes full of judgement. "Get your head in it, Potter. Weasley's skiving, but you're not here either."

Harry pressed the part of his chest where he'd felt the crack. It hurt, but nothing was loose or anything. "Yeah. I've just got some shit going on." He didn't know why he said that. He wasn't looking for pity. "Plus, you broke my bloody ribs. Bit hard to dodge." He smirked to show no hard feelings.

Malfoy smirked back and gestured to his own injury. "Well, you—"

"Clean that shit up, Death Muncher!"

The humor died, replaced again by the scowl. Malfoy didn't respond to whoever had yelled, just vanished his blood from the floor and spelled a bandage onto his arm. "We all have problems, Potter. Deal with it. I'm gonna piss."

Harry watched him head to the locker room. That was the most they'd interacted since joining the aurors. That last bit sucked, but the rest had been good. He never went all out like that with Ron. Too much potential for bruised egos.

He summoned his water bottle and took a swig.

Malfoy was right. Everyone was dealing with something. Rumor had it whatever deal Malfoy senior had made to keep his son out of prison had brought the family down so low they couldn't look a Weasley in the eye. Despite that and all the flack he got for having been a Death Eater, Draco never missed a day.

Maybe Harry ought to face his troubles head-on too.

…

The Winged Boar Gates swung open like welcoming arms, and Harry's face warmed with an irrepressible grin. Coming to Hogwarts always felt like coming home. Nowhere else made him feel like this, not even the Burrow. A cool breeze nudged him toward the castle, and he started toward the main doors.

Classes were dismissed by now. There were students lounging on the lawn, and he could see a practice in session on the quidditch pitch. The sight brought back fond memories.

He entered the castle without hesitation, but as he ascended a flight of stairs leading to the headmaster's floor, he started feeling nervous. Dumbledore had said he was welcome any time, but maybe he should've owled ahead. The elder wizard might be busy, being headmaster of a school and all.

He ran a finger down his scar. _Or I might be trying to back out._ He stepped off at the landing and headed to the spiral staircase.

It was as he faced the gargoyle's unamused stare that he realized he didn't know the password.

"Uh… This is awkward." He scratched is head. "Is Dumbledore in? He said I could—"

The gargoyle rolled its eyes and stepped aside. Harry didn't question it. He hopped onto the bottom step and rode the spiral up to the doors, which sprung open before he could knock, to reveal the twinkling grey wizard sitting at his desk, reaching into a bowl of yellow candy.

Soon, Harry was sucking on a lemon drop and glancing among the myriad trinkets ticking and tocking all over the room. One looked suspiciously like a dippy bird. He tapped its head and watched it bob up and down as he told Dumbledore what had brought him here.

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "What is the content of these visions? Are they accompanied by any urge to act on them?"

"I'd rather not say the content, but no. They don't make me want to do anything. I just see them."

"They are visions of events that have already happened?"

"Sort of," said Harry. He massaged his neck and slowly exhaled. "Just not to me."

Dumbledore regarded him a moment with a look almost of pain. "Are these Tom's memories, Harry?"

Harry sighed again. "Both of ours, I guess."

With an air of gravity, Dumbledore stood and gestured behind Harry. A leather reclining chair appeared out of nowhere. "Lie here, if you will."

Harry sat down, and the chair enveloped him like a hug. "Oh, this is nice, sir. You should go into furniture."

The old wizard chuckled. "Thank you, my boy. You tickle an old man's pride."

Harry looked up at all the headmasters' portraits looking down at him, feeling rather self-conscious. "So how do we do this?"

"Eyes closed. Deep breath and relax."

Harry leaned back and closed his eyes. In a moment, he felt the aged hands settle on his head, one over his scalp, the other palming his scar. He breathed deeply in and out, staring at the backs of his eyelids. Gradually, the maroon covering his eyes became a dark, vast space, and he knew it was not in front, but inside him.

Dumbledore's voice seemed to come from within him. "I shall first endeavor to determine whether the horcrux has awakened. You will feel me moving in your mind. Don't be alarmed. My presence is friendly."

Harry stared into the dark, feeling horribly exposed. At first, he recognized Dumbledore, his concern, his good intent, and was comforted by it. But then he saw something, or rather, sensed it. Something out there, in here with him. Far away but rushing closer. A shadow in the shadow. Darkness in the dark.

A burst of light erupted before him, the feeling familiar, like a patronus. It chased the darkness back until they both were gone.

Harry was alone in the dark again, but not truly. That thing, whatever it was, was still out there. Watching. Waiting. Hungry.

The dark lightened to the glow behind his eyelids and Harry opened them, blinking at the brightness.

Dumbledore was looking down at him with concern. "How do you feel now?"

"I think that did something." Harry palpated his scar. "Just not sure it's the right something."

"I sensed no disturbance before entering your mind. Rather, I think my presence is what stirred it."

"Did we make it worse?"

Dumbledore moved Harry's hand and pressed his fingertips into the scar, brows creased as he pondered the problem. "The horcrux is as stable as before. Have you considered that the trouble might be of personal origin?"

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps a buried trauma resurfacing. A troubling matter you've yet to confront. It is not unlikely, considering all you have been through." Dumbledore regarded him penetratingly. "And considering your reluctance to share the visions' contents."

Harry leaned forward, rubbing his face. It wasn't his business to tell, but maybe he ought to. Maybe Dumbledore knew already. It would explain much if he did.

He rose from the chair and began to wander about the room.

"I sort of found out something…jarring…about someone. And I'm reluctant to expose his private matters."

He stopped by a window overlooking the quidditch pitch.

"What I know now makes me want to know more, but…" He turned back to Dumbledore. "How do I ask about something he didn't want me to know in the first place?"

Dumbledore gave no indication of knowing what Harry meant. "That is a dilemma."

Harry waited in vain for some sort of advice then turned back to the window. It was the Gryffindor team practice. Harry scanned the players in the air and spotted Ginny as she scored a goal above the keeper's head.

Dumbledore came up beside him squeezed his shoulder. "Go on. Perhaps some friendly faces will help to settle you."

…

Though they'd done much more just yesterday, Ginny kissed him like she hadn't in forever, holding him so close, her broom handle bopped him on the head.

"What are you doing here, Harry? Is everything alright?"

He smiled reassuringly. "Yeah, of course. I just wanted to see you."

She kissed him some more before pulling away. He noticed a shadow in her eyes that wasn't there last night. Some tension in her cheeks.

"Listen. I know what's been bothering you." She brushed his hair from his forehead. "Hermione told me and Luna this morning."

A vice gripped his stomach so hard he nearly threw up. He'd deliberately _not_ told her about the horcrux. He couldn't bear to make her fear him or to see revulsion in her eyes. Why would Hermione do this to him?

"I just can't stop thinking about it. Imagine having this evil thing inside you." Ginny's face scrunched in disgust.

Harry struggled through rising panic for a way to explain.

"And all this time pretending she was fine. How did she not go crazy?"

 _Oh_. His panic sputtered to a halt. Of course she meant the curse. He was an idiot.

He quickly coordinated the right response. "Yeah. It's been hard. Ron was a wreck last night. He skipped work this morning."

"Poor thing. Hermione had a breakdown too. Snape was, ugh, _so_ disgusting. She had to get it off her chest." Her eyes flamed with righteous anger.

Harry felt a dull ache under his sternum. "I'm glad she has you to talk to now. We haven't been there for her like we should. It's just easy to pretend nothing's wrong. She's been so strong the way she's handling it."

"Don't let the outside fool you, Harry. I'm sure it's killing her inside. I wouldn't be surprised if she…"

Ginny trailed off, but Harry sensed the gravity of her omission. "You think she'll hurt herself?"

Ginny's outrage turned to sadness. "She hasn't said anything like that, but we have to be vigilant."

Harry felt like he'd been bludgered. The thought had never occurred to him.

"Oi, Captain!"

He looked up toward the voice. Above them one of the beaters was gesticulating with his bat.

"I'd better get back," said Ginny.

She gave him a parting kiss and got back on her broom.

He watched her fly back up to her teammates then made his way toward the stands, reeling from the latest worries added to his plate.

…

He found Luna and sat beside her to watch the practice. Though his eyes were on the pitch, his mind was elsewhere. Part of him was thinking over what Ginny had said, but another part was guiltily pondering something else entirely.

"What's on your mind, Harry?" Luna's wispy voice brought him from his contemplation. "For once, it isn't wrackspurts."

Harry scanned the air for Ginny. She was speeding with the quaffle on her way to another goal. "I heard Hermione told you this morning."

"She said what was on her mind, not what's on yours."

He turned to Luna. She wore a probing look behind her spectrespecs. "You think I'm hiding something?"

"You're always hiding something, Harry." She took off the strange glasses and pierced him with her naked gaze. "Not very well, but I don't mind pretending not to see."

Harry wondered if his inner state was so obvious to everyone. Well, it must be if even Malfoy noticed something wrong. "What gives it away?"

Luna hummed and leaned back on her hands. "Sometimes you look the way I feel when I think about my mum."

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. Sometimes he forgot that Luna's mother had died and that Luna had seen it happen. Something they had in common. "What are you thinking when you think about her?"

"Oh. That I miss her. I often wonder what memories we could've made together. What life would be like if she hadn't died. Sometimes I weigh up all I have and measure what I'd give to have her back."

Harry nodded in sympathy. He too often wondered what he'd give to have his parents or if he could ever become happy enough to not wish he weren't an orphan. He knew there were worse fates than his. His parents could be alive but not know him, like Neville's. Or they could be well but awful like the Dursleys.

Or was it the worst to have perfectly decent parents for a bit and then lose them in the blink of an eye? "If you'd never known your mother, do you think you'd miss her as much?"

Luna hummed again and looked up at the sky. "I think so, but differently. Instead of a hole that's missing something I know, something I could soothe with fond memories of her, there'd be this raw emptiness I wouldn't know how to fill. I think I'd try to find out everything I could about her to patch it up."

"Sort of how I feel," said Harry. The buried sentiments were welling up. "I wish I had known my parents. I wish I knew what I was missing."

Red flashed past and Harry looked back at the pitch. Ginny jerked her broom up and arched backward into a loop, her hair whipping around like a red halo in the sunlight.

A young girl flew high off a swing and floated down to the waiting grass, her red hair billowing like a cape in the summer wind.

Luna patted Harry's arm.

He grinned at his oddly perceptive friend through the blur of stinging tears. "Any advice? I'm sort of desperate."

She reached out a slender hand and touched his chest right where it ached. "Find out," she said. "Everything."

He looked back at the quidditch pitch, chuckling in his grief. If only it were so simple.

…

When he got back to Grimmould that evening, Ron was lying on the couch where he'd left him, still shirtless in his boxers, but now with some empty dragonales on the floor by his head. He was either sleeping or passed out. He smelled like the latter. Harry leaned down and shook his shoulder until he stirred.

Bloodshot eyes squinted open then with a groan squeezed shut again.

"Have you eaten all day?"

A grimace told the negative. He summoned a bottle of protein shake and sat Ron up to drink. His poor appetite was a sign of how badly he was feeling. He cleared away the beer bottles and wondered how far this was going to go. He knew the alcohol helped numb things, but he couldn't let his friend become a drunkard.

Ron finished the shake then stared off into the glassy haze of intoxication.

Harry sat next to him, not knowing what to say but offering his presence for comfort. They'd been doing this a lot. Sitting together after a rough day, not talking about it. Each of them in his head dealing with something the other didn't know. Maybe one day they ought to share.

"When we lost her in the forest…"

Ron's sudden speech startled Harry, especially the topic. They rarely talked about the hunt. By some unspoken agreement, they avoided bringing up those horrifying days. He waited on edge as Ron arranged his words.

"Kept thinking…should've told her I love her. 'S too late now."

Harry rubbed Ron's shoulder, wishing he could somehow heal his hurt. He hated that his friends were in pain. It was like their happiness was another thing Voldemort was stealing from him. "It's gonna be alright, mate." He hoped to convince Ron as well as himself.

Ron covered his brimming eyes with an arm marred by pale talon scars, and his chapped mouth stretched into a trembling grimace. "No, it won't."


End file.
